Façades: A Mirror Universe Story
by Konstantya
Summary: -Originally by Pseudo Posthuman; more info inside.- In this universe, the Terran Empire didn't fall. A tale revolving around the ISS Enterprise, with Tasha Yar still alive, Data as this century's Casanova, Worf playing for the wrong side, and a one-eyed Wesley Crusher. Mirror!Data/Mirror!Tasha.
1. Chapter 1

General Note: I'm only going to reformat my fics so much when this site is the one at fault. So if the formatting is weird, please check out my profile for more info. Thank you.

**A/N, NO SERIOUSLY PLEASE READ THIS:** So yes, this fic was originally written and published by Pseudo Posthuman. I thought it was a fun, dark romp, but unfortunately it had its share of technical errors—typos, misplaced punctuation, and the like. Just for my own personal enjoyment, I started fixing those errors—only I got a little carried away and basically started editing/rewriting the entire fic. ^^' I tried to contact Pseudo Posthuman, asking for permission to post my version, but it seems the account is abandoned(?). So after a bit of deliberation, I decided to go ahead and post it anyway, just with this massive disclaimer, letting readers know what's up. **Pseudo Posthuman, if you are reading this and would like me to take this story down, please let me know and I will be more than happy to oblige.**

The original fic is still up, and a link to it can be found in my profile—you know, in case you want to leave the original author some love, abandoned though the account appears to be. I can tell you right off the bat that I did not change the plot in any way—the editing/rewriting was mostly limited to the prose, itself, though I did tweak some of the characterizations a little (well, and I gave Troi her own sexy, custom dominatrix outfit, because I thought she deserved it ;p).

Also, since this _is_ a Mirror Universe fic, and by definition the Mirror Universe practically _runs_ on Fetish Fuel, please take the story, content, and views expressed therein with a grain of salt. Your Kink Is Not My Kink, and all that.

Obligatory (but ultimately pointless) CYA: I don't own it.

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**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

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**Chapter 1  
**

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Welcome to the 24th century, and good luck with that.

After a rather glorious victory for the Terran Empire over the less hostile, welcoming Romulans, the Imperial Fleet's flagship—and self-proclaimed strongest in the galaxy—was ordered to extract any information on the whereabouts of the rest of the Romulan fleet. Of course, the _valiant_ crew of the ISS _Enterprise_ took the word 'extract' at face value, and proceeded to obtain a handful of Romulan generals—acknowledging that their vessels were no match for a warship such as the _Enterprise_, they had surrendered themselves to the Terran Empire.

The laboratory was a grim, menacing sight. Only a couple of lights shone at the center of the room, the flash of consoles around the perimeter the only other source of illumination. In the lone bright spot was a long, metal examination table, modified to hold some of the most violent species in the galaxy. Right then, at its mercy, was Romulan General T'lsak. Thick, green cords trailed from his temples, and his hair was matted to his forehead from constant sweating. He was trying to calm himself, to retain some degree of control, but he was failing miserably, and would, occasionally, let out a small whimper.

"If we connect a further two to his frontal lobe, we could double the pain delivered to the subject." The android punched in a few commands, then turned to the chief engineer. "Of course, that may or may not kill him."

"Well, we've got a few more in the brig to replace him." Geordi flashed a smile, and Data returned it in his small, subtle way.

"Shall I retrieve another, or shall I wait for _T'lsak"_—he spat the Romulan's name with a bitterness that seemed uncharacteristic for a machine—"to finally die?"

Geordi laughed at Data; it was friendly, with a dark undertone, like most laughs on the _Enterprise_ were—the crew, due to their numerous triumphs, believed they were superior. Geordi especially, having been born blind, should not have been standing there. Under normal circumstances, he would have been considered a weakness and been discarded at infancy, but his parents had instead offered him up as a test subject. As a result, the engineer had a thick, metal VISOR fused awfully with the skin on his face. The device allowed him to see outside the normal visible spectrum, and thus turned what had been a disability into something far more valuable—a super-human asset to the Empire.

"The Romulan pain tolerance is very high, but not their capacity for survival," Data said. "Shall we proceed?"

Geordi adjusted some variables on the console and nodded at him. "Go ahead, Data."

The android attached two more green wires to the Romulan's head, making him gasp and arch his back. Unaffected, Data simply monitored the computer beside him.

"Heart rate increasing, blood pressure rising…" He paused and turned to the Romulan. "In a few moments you will feel as if your veins are choking your skin. You will find it difficult to breathe as your airways become constricted, and your vision may become blurred. However, this is a normal reaction to such a procedure."

"Data, if he can't breathe, how is he supposed to tell us where the fleet is?" Geordi pointed out.

Data paused for a moment, his yellow eyes darting back and forth in thought. "You bring up a good point, Geordi." He tilted his head back toward the console, enthralled by the Romulan's vital signs. "I did not think of that."

Geordi only laughed. Neither of them made any attempt to release the Romulan, nor to lessen his pain to the point where he could speak, because whatever he might have to say was immaterial. It truly didn't matter where the fleet was; Romulan ships posed little threat to even Terran transport vessels. And they were no match at all for the Empire's warships.

Data had effectively killed his test subject before he had anticipated, and questioned Geordi on whether he should run a self-diagnostic or not to try to fix the discrepancy. Geordi told him not to bother, that the Romulans were strange creatures who were hard to talk to and easy to humiliate, and whose willingness to die was so pathetic it made them an easy target. He said that the Romulan had probably held his breath in order to die, and commented that the species could save themselves a lot of trouble if they would simply give into the Empire's demands.

Data found this slightly amusing, though not to the point of laughter. His programming wasn't capable of that.

Now, the android Data had been created by one Dr. Noonian Soong, who had once worked as a cyberneticist for the Terran Empire. After being discharged on malpractice grounds (many claimed that Soong was far beyond insanity), he began work on his artificial life forms. His first android had been Lore, a kind, gentle creature who ended up with far too many morals. Although Soong had tolerated him, he soon grew tired of the android's imperfections, and, using Lore's blueprints, eventually succeeded in creating Data.

Data had been given the inklings of emotions, though his programming was not often capable of processing them. Inside him was the essence of the man who had built him: a dark, somewhat selfish individual, whose sense of curiosity was so insatiable, sometimes it qualified as downright sadistic. To the rest of the crew, Data was like a child—a child who perched himself on a hill and burned ants with a magnifying lens. He hadn't been programmed with any morals, and while he didn't seem particularly ambitious when it came to his military career (he had been serving in the Imperial Fleet for some twenty-odd years now, and had only risen to the rank of lieutenant commander), he was well-known for getting what he wanted.

Data tapped his comm. badge. "Data to Lieutenant Yar."

_"Go ahead,"_ came the tinny response.

"Geordi and I will be arriving at the brig shortly to collect another Romulan for interrogation. Please pre—"

_"Shit, Data,"_ she interrupted with a laugh. _"How many Romulans are you planning to go through tonight?"_

Data cocked his head, as if she was implying something. "As many as I desire."

She confirmed his request with another laugh, and then cut off the comm. link. Geordi chuckled and shook his head.

"Half the men on this ship would _kill_ to have your luck with women, Data." It wasn't an exaggeration, and Data knew it.

"It is not 'luck,' Geordi. Rather, it is good programming and…" He trailed off, unable to find the appropriate phrase in his databanks.

"Good alcohol?" Geordi finished for him. "C'mon, Data, you don't honestly think it's _just_ that, do you?"

"If you are referring to my supposed physical allure, then I do not believe I am the right person to ask, Geordi." He snapped the wires from the Romulan's head and heaved him, dripping with sweat, onto his shoulders.

"Smart ass," Geordi remarked. Data only shot him his small smirk and proceeded to sickbay—where he had been ordered to drop off any corpses, for Dr. Crusher's 'research,' as she called it.

-  
-o-  
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"Commander Riker, I need to speak with you in my ready room."

William Riker, a hulking individual with two parallel radiation burns over his left eyebrow, followed. The doors swished shut behind him, and he took his place in front of the captain's desk, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Captain Picard took a seat in his more-than-impressive chair and shook his head at his first officer.

"At ease, Commander."

Will relaxed, took a seat in the chair opposite the captain's, and leaned back, pulling his sash. He was good at reading the captain's tone of voice, and he raised an eyebrow, guessing, "There isn't a Romulan fleet left, is there?"

The captain leaned back himself. "Oh, well, you know how it is. We do need _some_ justification for our presence in this region."

Will leaned closer to the table. "What justification should we need besides the fact that all other civilizations have knelt to the Terran Empire so far?" It was something of a joke, but only because it was true.

Picard waved disdainfully. "You know the admiral—always wanting to turn a blind eye to the true nature of our mission. But I didn't bring you here to bastardize the admiral with me." He took out a PADD and pushed it across the table. "I regret to announce we have received new orders."

"Really? And I was just starting to get fond of the Romulans…" Will chuckled to himself and scanned through the PADD. "Ah, I see." He paused, looking up at the captain. "Who pissed off the Klingons?"

The captain frowned imperiously. "That information is confidential, Commander. However, we are to release the surviving Romulans to the Imperial authorities on Romulus." He stood up and gazed out the window, looking over the Romulan home world, and the mass of starships that surrounded it.

"There aren't many Romulans left in our holding cell…" Will pointed out.

Through the reflection in the window, Will glimpsed the faintest of smirks on the captain's face. Picard was a dignified but ruthless man—a powerful asset to the Empire—and after a moment, he turned back from the window.

"Have the remaining Romulans executed," he ordered, "and set a course for the Romulan outpost, warp factor seven."

Will nodded, a grin on his mouth and a glint in his eye. "Aye, sir."

"And Commander," the captain said, stopping him, that faint smirk returning to his face, "the ISS _Stargazer_ 'pissed off' the Klingons."

-  
-o-  
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Creativity came in the form of the _Enterprise_'s agony booth, customized by Lieutenant Yar and Lieutenant Commanders Data and La Forge. Inside, the Romulan could feel the intensity rise without even having to look at Tasha, who manned the controls. There was a sharp twinge of pain in his temples and an intense pressure in his sinuses. His nose started bleeding, and his throat felt like it was closing from the inside, making his breaths short and extremely painful. His lungs felt like they were on fire. And that was only the first setting.

His muscles spasmed involuntarily, and his hand hit the glass, leaving a sweaty smear. The pressure increased, he doubled over, and the setting was raised once more. His legs gave out when the highest setting was switched on, a combination of burning veins and pinching nerves cascading through his system, leaving him little more than a quivering, collapsed mess. And then he gave one final, violent shudder, and went still. The glass slid open, and the Romulan fell out onto Tasha's shoe, much to her annoyance.

"No vital signs," Data confirmed. "Prepare the final Romulan for—"

"They do look like them, don't they?" Tasha mused.

Data blinked. "Like who?"

"The Vulcans. If only they would submit themselves to the Empire… It would be like completing a collection." Tasha laughed, kicked the Romulan off her shoe, and turned to the last prisoner. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" The final prisoner was a woman, who gave no reply and stood with a straight, stiff posture. "You know it's only a matter of time before the remains of the Romulans submit to the Empire—"

The woman finally broke her silence, snapping, "We would rather die than join the Terran Empire."

Tasha's face contorted with disgust. "We'll see about that… Data!"

Data had moved the dead Romulan beside the rest of his late comrades and now looked up. He nodded at Tasha and took the last prisoner by the arm, her struggles futile against his strength. He looked, ironically, like quite the gentleman as he led her up to the booth, one arm around her waist and the other on her forearm.

To Data, the most curious thing about the Romulans was that, out of all the species that had been subjected to the booth, only the Romulans prevented themselves from screaming. Of course, Data couldn't really comprehend any pain they felt; the agony booth would never work on him. But then, discipline was rarely a problem with Data.

The Romulan fell out of the booth like the one before her had, and Data removed her immediately, placing her with the other corpses. Tasha called for a security team to take the bodies to sickbay.

"I expected more punch from the Romulans, you know…" she sighed.

" 'Punch,' Tasha?"

"Yeah. They didn't put up much of a fight."

"The Romulan Empire suffered massive losses in a civil war less than ten years ago, depleting half of their military and causing significant social, political, and economic problems. As a result, their technological advancement has been impeded—"

"I get it, Data." She shook her head and laughed at him. "I don't understand you. Sometimes you can be so…so…rigid and…boring."

"It is unfortunate my creator did not get the chance to complete my programming. Perhaps then I would not be so 'boring.' "

"Whatever happened to old Soong, anyway? You never told me that." She put some tools away and closed the agony booth's door, making a mental note to have a clean-up crew sent down.

"He was murdered by Resistance rebels after finishing the groundwork of what was to be my emotional subroutines. They took Lore with them, although I doubt he will ever be much of a threat." Lore had been a sensitive thing, Soong had said, and his ethical programming had been his Achilles' heel; Data wasn't cursed with such a thing.

"I'm sure if we ever run into the Resistance again, the captain will personally grant you permission to lead the mission and avenge your father, Data."

Data tilted his head at this idea. "Perhaps." It was then that the security team entered, and Data and Tasha took their leave.

"What do you think our orders are this time?" she asked.

"I do not know. The commander has not informed any of the crew as of yet."

"So? Take a wild guess."

Data's brow furrowed. He didn't see how such a conjecture was at all significant, but decided to humor her all the same. "I would 'guess' that we have been called away to deal with either the Cardassians or the Bajorans. Both have recently shown their particular dislike for the Empire."

The turbolift arrived, and Tasha nimbly stepped into it, calling for the bridge. Data calmly fell in behind her and the door swished shut.

"The Cardassians and Bajorans get pissed off when a piece of _debris_ wanders through their systems," she said with a roll of her eyes. Data lifted an eyebrow. "Maybe the Klingons…"

"I have observed," he stated, "that you swear more frequently than many other crew members." Tasha laughed at him again.

"And I've observed you don't."

"Like I said, my programming is incomplete."

The doors opened to reveal the bridge, which was bathed in low light, as usual. Tasha stepped out first, taking her place at tactical, while Data rounded the edge to take his seat at ops., next to Wesley Crusher—better known as One-Eyed Wesley. Ensign Crusher was Dr. Crusher's son, and had suffered severely at the hands of his abusive father—until said father had been killed by none other than Jean-Luc Picard, himself. Picard had an inexplicable soft spot for the boy, and many attributed it to the soft spot he had for the boy's mother—but _that_ was another matter entirely.

"Mr. Data, how long will it take us to reach the Romulan outpost Kaleh'tan at warp seven?" Will asked.

"Two hours, twelve minutes, fifty-five—"

_"Thank you,_ Mr. Data," Will cut in with a roll of his eyes. "Lieutenant, make sure the shields and weapons are fully operational within one hour."

Tasha nodded. "Aye, sir. What kind of fire should we be expecting?"

Will narrowed his eyes. "Klingon."

It was the only explanation he needed to give. Data glanced over his shoulder to see Tasha smirking at him from tactical, but his attention was immediately drawn away by the _swish_ of the doors to the captain's ready room. Will stood up.

"Captain on the bridge."

Picard didn't even nod in acknowledgement, and instead made a beeline for the other side of the bridge. "Senior staff, report to the briefing lounge."

"Aye, sir." Will tapped his comm. badge. "Mr. La Forge, Dr. Crusher, report to the briefing lounge immediately."

-  
-o-  
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The outpost shook, its command center engulfed in flames and the bleak atmosphere of death. It took fire from the Terran ships above it, the foundation shaking and cracking like nothing Commander Taloak had ever experienced in his career. He shivered, a plasma burn down the side of his face, and tried to move from under the rubble. He managed to free his legs, and the outpost shuddered again. A beam collapsed behind him in a blaze of sparks and smoke.

He tried to communicate with anyone who might be left, but the console only responded with static. He slammed his fist into it in frustration, then stumbled through the command center, over his dead friends, dragging an injured ankle behind him with pain and determination. With each step he took, the roof over his head cracked a little bit more. The structural integrity was failing, and would likely soon collapse entirely. As quickly as he could, he made his way through the black, debris-filled corridors, toward his own quarters.

Inside, nothing had seemed to survive—it was a dusty, smoky wreck, and there was even a splattering of green against the door from one of his security officers. Taloak looked around for any sign of life. He heard a whimper from the bedroom and struggled to reach it. A body lay on the floor, a woman, half-way between life and death, severe plasma burns down her face and side. He couldn't bear to see her like that, couldn't even say her name—but it wasn't she who had whimpered; it was their son, under the bed.

"Come out. Don't be afraid," he told the boy. He was smaller than other Romulan children his age, his ears longer, his hair thick and blonde, and his eyes bright blue. Taloak tenderly placed his hand on his wife's face. Her skin was smoother and paler than any Romulan, because she _wasn't_ Romulan—she was an El-Aurian, whom Taloak had found in an escape pod a number of years ago.

"We won't let them take us…" Taloak whispered fiercely, taking out his phaser. He pulled his son closer to him, and the boy covered his ears and buried his face in his father's arm. Taloak put the phaser to his wife's temple, then closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. A shiver surged through his body at the sound of it firing. He didn't want to do it again, but he knew he had to.

His eyes only opened when people—massive, heavily-armed people by the sound of it—came bounding through the doors to the cabin and into the bedroom, flashlights aimed at his face. Taloak squinted, phaser held determinedly at his son's temple.

"Do not fire!" came an authoritative bellow. "I am Captain Worf, of the Klingon warship _Gr'oth_. You must come with us before the Terrans obliterate this outpost!"

"You won't take us alive!" Taloak shouted back.

Worf growled at the Romulan's attitude and, upon noticing the boy, and the fact that he was in danger, tried to come forward to protect him. Taloak pressed the phaser to his son's temple harder, shaking his head.

"You won't!" he shouted again.

"You must leave now! If you will not come, then at least let the boy go!"

"I don't trust Klingons!"

"We have been the only people to come to your aid, the only ones who will risk our lives to help you—how can you not trust us? Your war with the Terran Empire has left you blind, Romulan!"

Taloak's previous determination faltered. The outpost shook once more, violently, and a siren began to sound—a core breach. Taloak, in numb realization, let his son go and pushed him towards Worf. Worf hauled the boy up with one arm, holding him against his shoulder, and offered his other hand to Taloak. Taloak only smiled back—and then put his phaser to his own head, firing swiftly. He slumped down to the floor, next to his El-Aurian wife.

Worf ground his teeth at the waste of life, but knew he couldn't waste time mulling over the Romulan's suicide. He ran out into the corridor with the boy in his arms, his two officers behind him, and called for transport as soon as they had cleared any interference. As soon as they dematerialized, the outpost began to collapse, support beams falling right where they had been standing.

On the bridge of his ship, Worf dropped the half-Romulan, half-El-Aurian boy beside his command chair. The boy, oddly enough, seemed very passive about the whole experience—neither sad, nor fearful, nor anything Worf might have expected from one so young.

"Target the reactor of the Terran vessel!" he shouted in his native language. "Full spread!"

"Sir, another vessel is approaching!"

Worf narrowed his eyes. _"Which_ vessel?"

"…It's the _Enterprise!"_

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A/N: So yes, quite a bit different from my own writing—I almost never write anything so action/adventurey. But it's fun and refreshing in a way, and a neat little side project. (I have a soft spot for the Mirror Universe, and really wish there were more TNG fics out there that dealt with it—there's Diane Duane's novel, "Dark Mirror," but I confess I haven't read it because I hear Data doesn't exist in her version of the Mirror Universe, and that makes me a very sad panda. (Though in all honesty, my favorite version of the Mirror Universe _is_ one where Data was never created—but not because Soong was killed before he could build him, as is the case in "Dark Mirror," but because no one thought anything was wrong with Lore. So Lore ends up as second officer on the _Enterprise_ and basically follows Data's career path. But I digress.))

Updates should be pretty quick (I have more than half of it rewritten already), but please keep in mind that this _is_ a side project for me, and therefore not a priority. But I'm hoping to update it maybe once a week? Maybe less? But don't quote me on anything. ^^


	2. Chapter 2

**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

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**Chapter 2  
**

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"The ISS _Stargazer_ is hailing, Captain," Tasha reported.

"On screen."

A young man appeared on the viewer, bearing a commander's sash but sitting in the captain's chair. A limp, lifeless body lay at his feet. The _Stargazer_ had suffered the brunt of the surprise attack, and it showed on her bridge. The lights were flickering, consoles were sparking, and smoke wafted through the air.

_"The Klingons have taken aboard Romulan survivors from this outpost! Our shields are failing and the captain is dead!"_ As distraught as the commander sounded, his ship shaking from enemy fire, there was a pleased glint in his eye when he relayed his captain's status.

"We'll take over from here," Captain Picard said, ordering Tasha to cut off communications without any chitchat. "Hail the Klingons, audio only."

"Hailing frequencies open."

"This is Captain Picard of the ISS _Enterprise_. You have entered recently occupied Terran space and stolen our property. Drop your shields and prepare to be boarded."

_"The other Terran vessel provoked the Klingon Alliance into action! Do not let this be the case again, Captain. The Romulans have not formally submitted to the Terran Empire!"_

The captain scoffed. Will laughed. Klingons—self-proclaimed heroes of the galaxy, who talked so much, and did so little.

"If you will not drop your shields, then we will drop them for you," the captain said. He ordered Tasha to cut off communications and nodded at her.

"Firing torpedoes, full spread."

Will shot a smirk at the captain. "Just a warning shot, sir?"

Picard sniffed. "Barely."

Data's hands danced across the console as he observed each torpedo and the damage they wrought. Most were ineffective against the Klingons' heavily shielded ships, though enough had taken their toll on the vessel. It was unlikely, Data surmised, that the Klingons could withstand an assault from a second Imperial ship.

The _Enterprise_ was jolted back and forth by a flurry of retaliatory fire. Reports flew in from all stations, but most were so minor the captain didn't even pay attention.

"Direct hit. Forward shields holding," Tasha reported. "Returning fire."

"I want those shields obliterated, Lieutenant," the captain growled, clawing the armrests of his chair.

Tasha hesitated. She didn't know how to bring the shields down, but she didn't want to risk the captain's wrath, either. The only other person to notice her hesitation was Data, who quickly whirled around to lend a hand.

"There is a small junction between the main bridge and the bird-of-prey's neck that will cripple the defense systems if struck properly," he said. The captain turned to look at Tasha expectantly, and she immediately set to work looking for such a junction. Data meanwhile, continued to shout instructions over the shaking of the ship.

"Lieutenant…" the captain ground out.

"One moment, sir," she mumbled. The ship jolted violently and a report came over the comm., saying that the warp core had been knocked off-line.

"Lieutenant!"

"I have it, sir!"

She fired an array of torpedoes at the Klingon vessel. Will whirled around, narrowing his eyes at her.

"You were too slow, _Lieutenant Yar."_ An unmistakable threat, for later on, when they were out of the heat of battle.

"The Klingons have lost shields and have hull breaches on decks twenty-five through thirty," Data reported. "I am reading four non-Klingon biosigns—three Romulan, one…" He trailed off uncharacteristically.

"One _what_, Mr. Data?" Picard snapped.

"I am not certain, sir. The reading resembles Romulan DNA, but not entirely." The ship shook again. "Sir, it seems that the Klingons are not interested in retreating to tend to their shields."

"Target their damaged systems!" Will commanded. "Full spread!"

"Full spre—shit!" Tasha swore as a red light lit up on her console and a warning signal sounded. "Hull breach on deck twelve!"

"They're coming around for another assault, Captain," Wesley reported.

"Yes, I can see that…" The captain seethed, then punched a button on his chair's console. "Mr. La Forge, locate and beam the four Romulans into transporter room three. Lieutenant, have a security detail sent down to meet them there, and—" He was interrupted by the impact of another barrage of Klingon fire. "—have Deanna Troi sent down there."

"Another Klingon vessel approaching from port," Wesley said.

"Target the new arrival! Knock out their weapons _immediately!"_ Will bellowed.

"Aye, sir—" Tasha stopped mid-sentence and mid-fire at another light on her console. "Sir, there's a third Klingon ship tailing the other! They're targeting the _Stargazer_!"

"Leave them; they're gone anyway." Will turned to the captain for approval. Picard nodded. "Take us behind the _Stargazer_, Ensign Crusher, and use her for cover."

"Sir, the _Stargazer_ is hailing—"

"Ignore. Fire at the damaged Klingon vessel."

"They took heavy casualties in that last attack, Captain. Their weapons are offline and their shields are failing."

"The third Klingon vessel is coming about around the _Stargazer,"_ Data reported. He glanced over his shoulder to offer another suggestion, not put off by the captain's angry glare as other officers might have been. "We could take hostages before we destroy the—"

"That won't be necessary," Tasha cut in. "The damaged vessel has a warp core breach, and we just lost twenty percent of our aft shielding."

"Lieutenant, beam as many Klingons as possible from the damaged ship into cargo bay three, and have Mr. La Forge erect a level three force-field around it," Captain Picard ordered. The ship shook violently again, almost throwing him out of his seat, and he added, "And get this ship out of their fire! Behind the _Stargazer,_ Mr. Crusher!"

Wesley's hands moved faster than he would have thought possible, bringing the _Enterprise_ around the _Stargazer_ again, letting the smaller ship take most of the fire.

"Thirty-five Klingons are aboard, sir. Commander La Forge is down there, with another security detail," Tasha reported. "The two other vessels are concentrating their fire on our reactor now."

"Ensign, bring us about. Lieutenant, prepare to destroy the adrift ship," Will ordered.

Worf's ship, one of his oldest commands, was shot apart and scattered across the battlefield right in front of the other ships' faces. The captain reclined back in his chair and called for the Klingons to be hailed. Tasha replied that frequencies were open, audio only.

"We have taken thirty-five Klingons hostage in one of our cargo bays. Stand down or we will blow the bay doors open and spread their filthy carcasses across your hull."

_"Captain Picard, I presume? Well, I do enjoy a bit of talk after all that gunfire. Your ship puts up an impressive fight, but you will not succeed."_ The Klingon captain barked out on order in his own language, and the faint sound of an alert was heard over the channel.

Data tapped at his console. "They have attached a tractor beam to the _Stargazer_, sir. Her structural integrity is holding, though she cannot withstand much more stress."

"They're playing us at our own game," Wesley said.

"Shut up, Ensign," Will hissed. The boy bowed his head and mumbled an apology.

_"Now, Captain, shall we discuss this? We can arrange an exchange."_ The Klingon laughed at his own poetry. Captain Picard scoffed in disgust and ordered the line muted.

He didn't care much about the _Stargazer_. She was a weaker, older vessel that shouldn't have been anywhere near the Klingons, and should have called for help long before she did. Such stupidity, in Picard's eyes, deserved to be punished. There wasn't much consideration needed, and there wasn't much protest he would receive from his crew—there was only the subtle detail of how to deal with the situation at hand.

The captain rubbed his chin. "Mr. Data, is there a way to destroy the Klingon vessel by destroying the _Stargazer_? Any kind of feedback pulse?"

Data frowned. "Yes, sir, I believe so. We can—"

"Leave out the details, Mr. Data," snapped Will. "Just do it!"

Data looked at the captain and hesitated for a moment, unsure of his orders. But when Will stood up and tugged his uniform down, the android wasted no time in implementing them. Not that Commander Riker, a mere human, posed much of physical threat to him—but an order was an order. He stepped up to tactical, beside Tasha, leaning over her shoulder and poking at the controls. She folded her arms in irritation; not only had he given her unsolicited help before, but now he was outright taking over her job.

Once the modifications were complete, Data pulled back, his cheek lightly brushing hers. Tasha froze at the contact, his report lost on her, and it wasn't until he was half-way back to his station that she returned to reality. She shuddered, her face heating up in a combination of anger and embarrassment.

"Get me the Klingons again," the captain said, pulling his sash down tighter and trying to wipe away his ear-to-ear grin.

The Klingon's bass-low voice rumbled through the bridge. _"You seem to have taken your time, Captain Picard."_

"We had to discuss our situation," lied the captain. "Our decision has been made; however, I would like to ask you, Captain…"

_"Moklor. A name you won't soon forget, Picard."_

"Yes, of course. I was just wondering…" The captain stroked his chin in thought, a sadistic smile crossing his face. "How many Klingons does it take to cover a parsec?"

_"What?"_

"Now, Lieutenant!"

Tasha hit one single command on the console. On screen, the _Stargazer_ burst into a cosmic artwork of blue and red. The shockwave shot through the tractor beam and blasted through the top of the bird-of-prey's bridge, sending hull fragments and Klingon officers across the battlefield. Soon enough, the entire ship exploded, the force of the destruction sending the last Klingon vessel careening sideways. The _Enterprise_ rocked with the shockwave's impact, and once it had dissipated, Will stood up, grinning triumphantly.

"Status?"

Tasha checked her console. "No major damage, sir."

"I assume we have enough power to destroy an adrift bird-of-prey?"

Tasha grinned. "Aye, sir. More than enough."

Of course, there would be some sort of violent, valiant retaliation from the Klingon High Command after this. Some pathetic resistance, a tiny fleet of vessels sent sailing into Terran-occupied Romulan space. But the future, as it were, often didn't matter. The actions of the Empire ran off the present, with very little consideration for after-effects. After all, if the Terran Empire stopped to think, they wouldn't be such a powerful force in the Alpha Quadrant. Conquest was impulse enough.

The captain stood. "Commander Riker, you have the bridge. Commander Data, Lieutenant Yar—transporter room." He waved at his officers, and they followed him into the turbolift, Data with particular eagerness. He was quite curious to see the Romulans they had picked off the ship. And quite curious to see what Deanna Troi had already done to them.

-  
-o-  
-

Deanna Troi had no official position on the ship, only a rank—well, and a reputation, but that was far too explicit for words. Unlike most women in the Imperial Fleet, she didn't wear the standard midriff style uniform; instead she wore a custom ensemble of black leather and vinyl, skin-tight and plunging low on her chest. Deanna, petite in frame and beautiful in face, hardly looked like much of a threat—but her cruelty came in the form of her invasive psychic powers. She'd already gone through the Romulans in the transporter room, and instructed Geordi to keep the Klingon crew in darkness until she arrived. She liked Klingons; they were so easy to irritate.

The only person she showed the slightest hint of mercy to was the young boy that had been beamed aboard—far too pale to be a Romulan, though he had the pointed ears of the species. She bluntly asked him his name, but he gave no reply, instead casting his eyes toward the floor. Deanna was an empath, a strong one even though she was only half-Betazoid, and even she had trouble reading the boy. She was sure the doctor could find something out about him.

Captain Picard walked in with Data and Tasha behind him. The security chief firmly held her phaser in hand, and the captain surveyed the captured Romulans, looking over to Deanna for a report. The Betazoid folded her arms.

"I told the security team they weren't needed here. The Romulans are weak as ever, and the boy…" Deanna shrugged. "I don't feel much from him. He's very shielded for one so young."

"And the Klingons?"

Deanna laughed. "Stubborn as ever. They're very determined after being attacked, but I'm sure we can extract any information we need."

"We don't need any," the captain said. "I just don't want them with our property." He turned to Tasha, and nodded his head towards the Romulans—who were currently kneeling on the floor, with their hands behind their heads. "Have them executed, Lieutenant."

Tasha nodded, and went forward, urging the three Romulans up with her phaser. They hesitated for a moment—until she pulled back her phaser, silently threatening to pistol-whip them if they didn't comply. They scurried to their feet, hands still behind their heads, trying to show no sign of emotion as Tasha led them away, even though they knew they were suddenly walking down the corridors of death row.

Data, meanwhile, had been busy scanning the boy, and now spoke with some bemusement. "His life signs register as both Romulan and El-Aurian, Captain—though there are some anomalies in his DNA which I cannot explain. Nor can I determine his age." He closed his tricorder and looked up. "Perhaps the doctor will have more luck with her examination."

Deanna laughed again, a bubbly sound that bordered on eerie. "You mean with her _dissection."_

Data tilted his head at that. "Captain, I must remind you, he is a child—"

"I can _see_ that, Mr. Data," the captain snapped. "Well? What would you have me do with him? You, Mr. Data, are the only crew member to show any…_interest_ in this boy. If you wish to keep him alive in order to solve his identity, then he will be _your_ responsibility. That will take up your time, require your attention…" The captain trailed off, tapping his chin in thought. "Forget it—have the doctor slice up his DNA until we find a—"

"Captain, I must protest," the android said. Picard glared at the interruption, Deanna looked shocked, but Data didn't bat an eyelash. "I believe he could be useful if he talks. And considering his peculiar mix of species, it is possible that he could be of great use to the Empire."

The captain eyed him suspiciously. "Is this an act of compassion, Mr. Data?"

"No, sir. I was not programmed with compassion."

The captain stared at him for a moment longer, and then grudgingly acquiesced. "Very well, Mr. Data. He is now your responsibility—but keep in mind, I don't like children. Keep him under control or I will have him sent to Dr. Crusher immediately. And Mr. Data," he added, "give him a name."

The android's brow furrowed. He wasn't very good with names—Geordi had named his dog, Spike, and he had never found it necessary to name anything else in his life. He looked at the boy, who still remained as passive as ever, as if this might help.

"Can we leave now, Commander?" the captain asked impatiently. Data filed away the thoughts for later and nodded. "Let's see what the Klingons have to say…"

Captain Picard led the way, and Data moved to follow, but the boy stayed firmly where he was. Data hesitated, unsure of what action to take—under any other circumstances, he would simply take the person's arm and forcibly drag them along the corridors if necessary, but a child?

Deanna, it turned out, saved him the trouble of deciding by grabbing the back of the boy's shirt and shoving him along. "Move, you little brat," she ordered, and it was apparently enough to convince the boy to trail along, behind Data's heels.

The Klingons were waiting restlessly in their make-shift prison. Worf in particular stood near the door, pacing back and forth with a great scowl on his face. There were dents in his armor and a cut across his forehead ridges, and when Captain Picard arrived, he turned to him with a vicious sneer.

"You dare to show your face behind a force-field?" he demanded. "Step in here, Captain, and let us discuss your actions."

"What, are you the town sheriff?" Deanna scoffed. "I'm reading a high level of nervousness in this Klingon, Captain. He's unsure, afraid… Definitely a Klingon," she mocked. Worf stepped forward with a growl.

"Return the boy to us!" he demanded. "You have no jurisdiction over him!"

"Klingons," the captain sighed with a shake of his head. "Always playing the hero… At the moment, you're in no position to be making any demands. I could blow you and your crew out of this cargo bay with a mere nod at my engineer here. How would you like that?"

"Better than living in a cage!" another Klingon bellowed from behind Worf. A roar of agreement rang out from the other warriors.

"Then we'll keep you here," Captain Picard said. A smile tugged at his mouth. "I hear they have a new set of prison camps on the arctic continent of Proxima Centauri… Perhaps we should transfer you there. Klingons like the cold, don't they?"

Worf sneered again. "Do as you please, coward; the Klingon Alliance will _never_ give in to such a despicable species such as your own. Any enemy of the Terran Empire is a friend of ours, and that, _Captain,_ bears far more weight than your entire empire put together."

"Such brave words for such stupid animals," Picard muttered. He folded his arms. "Mr. La Forge, flood the cargo bay with your drug of choice until the Klingons are asleep. I find their roars tiresome."

The engineer removed an access panel and quickly, efficiently, administered high doses of gas through the air vents. The Klingons looked around, half in confusion and half in anger, trying not to cough as the gas entered their lungs. Despite their valiant efforts, their eyelids grew heavy and their hearing grew fuzzy before they finally collapsed in upon each other like a set of dominoes.

Captain Picard tutted in disappointment, and then turned to the woman next to him. "Take as many as you like, Deanna. We haven't got a psychiatric review of the Klingons yet, and I'm sure Dr. Crusher would be more than willing to help."

Deanna's black eyes seemed to darken even more, and she smiled indulgently. She nodded towards Geordi, who lowered the force-field, and then she stepped into the room, looking for a likely candidate. The largest one, perhaps. Deanna was positively giddy; she had never tortured a Klingon before. Rumor had it they were the hardest to break.

The captain turned to his remaining officers. "Mr. Data, get that child out of my sight. Mr. La Forge, you will remain here until Deanna is finished." And with that, he stalked off.

Data turned back to Geordi, who was eyeing him curiously. "You get programmed with parenting skills or something?" he asked, glancing down at the boy.

"No," Data admitted. "However, wasting young life such as his is illogical. With enough work, he could be a vital asset to the Empire."

Geordi shook his head skeptically. "They've never had kids on warships…"

"As you have told me before, Geordi, there is a first time for everything." He gestured for the boy to follow him, and began to make his way down the corridor. It was going to be an interesting experience, if nothing else.

-  
-o-  
-

Tasha touched her collarbone and winced in pain. She sat at the back of Ten Forward by herself, going over some reports which would probably never be read. That was just the way things were on this ship—informal. When they weren't rigidly, destructively authoritative, that was.

Mostly, despite how trivial and ultimately useless they were, the reports were just a way to calm her anger and get her mind off of the after-effects of the day's events. Data had shown her up twice on the bridge, and after a small shouting match with Commander Riker, she now had a bruised collarbone and a black eye. Destructive authority in action, that. At least she'd managed to not retaliate this time around.

When Data walked in, that silly little boy trailing behind him, she sighed and buried her head in her arms. It just figured that he would take on the futile, stupid task of looking after a child. The kid would be dead within a week. Data wasn't exactly prime parental material; he was simply looking for some logical way the boy could help the Empire.

He'd noticed her in the corner, and Tasha bristled when he came over to her table. "Are you done showing me up for the day, Commander?" The boy stood beside him, still not speaking, passive as ever.

"Showing you up?" he queried.

"Yeah, showing me up. Like you did on the bridge. Riker nearly made me a mirror image of One-Eyed Wesley."

Data was unaffected. "You do realize that had I not spoken up, Commander Riker would have been far angrier."

"At least I wouldn't look like a fresh cadet during her first week of camp," she shot back. "I'm sorry we're not all as _fully functional_ as you."

He cocked his head at her choice of phrasing, and she swore the smallest of smirks was playing across his lips. Deferentially, he asked, "Can I make it up to you in some way?"

Tasha swallowed, suddenly aware that she had stepped into dangerous territory. Data was, by all outward appearances, a gentleman—but at his core, he was completely amoral, and more often than not, his polite gestures held ulterior motives. Superior strength and mental capabilities only played a tiny part in the android's games; he was far more apt to rely on manipulation, even seduction. It was frighteningly human behavior for a machine.

She managed to push a dismissive breath out of her nose and drop her eyes back to her PADD. "So what's with him?" she asked, jerking her chin over at the boy, effectively changing the subject. "You know children don't belong on warships."

Data lowered himself into the chair across from her and folded his hands on the table. The boy remained standing at his side. "I do not believe he will be any trouble. In any case, he will be staying with me." Data paused in thought. "The captain told me to give him a name, but I cannot think of any."

"Well, why don't you _ask_ him what his name is?"

"He will not speak."

Tasha leaned forward to get a closer look at the boy, noticing a necklace tucked into his shirt. She pulled it out and took it in her hand, reading out a string of numbers from a metal tag. The boy simply looked confused. Tasha turned the tag over—half of it was burnt and unreadable, but she could make out a couple Romulan characters, and turned to show it to Data.

"What little is decipherable would be read as 'Sin,' " he translated.

Tasha shrugged, dropping the necklace back onto the boy's chest. "Maybe that would work?"

Data considered this. "I suppose it will have to, for now." The boy silently tucked the necklace back into his shirt. Data stood. "I think it would be best if I show him where he will be staying."

"Yeah, whatever," Tasha said. She was back to trying to concentrate on her reports, and had obviously had enough of his presence.

Without any parting pleasantries, he walked off. Sin, as he was now known, followed. Data knew he had brought unnecessary punishment upon Tasha for being a 'smart ass,' as some would have put it, but the simple fact was, he wasn't programmed to care.

.

.

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

.

**Chapter 3  
**

.

"So what shall we do with the thirty-five Klingons in our cargo bay? I would appreciate some suggestions." The captain sat back in his chair, clasping his hands and raising an eyebrow at Will and Deanna.

"Interrogation," the latter said, almost too quickly.

"Offer them up to the nearest starbase or the next Imperial ship that passes our way?" Will offered. Deanna sent an annoyed glance his way.

The captain nodded in thought. "I don't want Klingons on my ship unless they serve a purpose," he admitted irritably. "…And correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't we seen one of them before?"

"Yes," Deanna said, "the captain, Worf. We encountered him and his crew several times along the border last year. He seemed to have a new command this time."

"Yes, I remember him now," Will said. "He was the one you referred to as 'Robin Hood,' Captain."

Picard hummed musingly at that, and then came to a decision. "Commander Riker, contact the nearest starbase. Have them prepare cells for the Klingons. We'll let them deal with them."

Will moved to stand. "Aye, sir."

"But we keep Robin Hood," the captain added.

Will nodded, and took his leave of the ready room with Deanna. They walked to the turbolift and called for their respective decks, and it was then that Deanna shot him another annoyed glance.

"What?" Will asked.

"You're ruining my fun, Will."

He folded his arms. "Your fun?"

Deanna came forward, folding her own arms haughtily. The action seemed designed to draw attention to her already-prominent décolletage. "With the Klingons," she clarified.

Will scoffed at her, his eyes dropping momentarily to her chest. "We all know you don't need Klingons to have fun."

"Well," she said, sliding her hands to her hips and slinking closer, "what _else_ would I do on a ship like this?" She was enjoying herself immensely—enjoying the combination of anxiety and arousal that she was feeling from the first officer, enjoying the tension in his throat and the nervousness that was showing in his eyes. But before she could do anything more, the turbolift stopped and opened to her deck. She smiled at Will, dragging a finger down his cheek. Will swallowed and was visibly relieved when she finally left the lift.

She had decided to take a visit to sickbay; Beverly Crusher was a strange bird—obsessive about her work, flighty in personality, a little neurotic—but, perhaps for that very reason, Deanna enjoyed her company and conversation.

Sickbay was brighter than the rest of the ship, but in some ways, the cold, sterile white light made it even more intimidating. On the tables were a variety of instruments, some still unwashed from their last use. The bio-beds were almost filled with dead Romulans; only one had been left empty—a token consideration to any crewmember who might come by, requiring medical attention. Beverly was hunched over a microscope in the far corner, an impish grin on her lips as she investigated whatever it was under the glass.

"Deanna, come and look at this, quick," Beverly urged in a hushed voice. She practically dragged Deanna in front of the microscope. The Betazoid took a look, but shrugged. "They're growing," Beverly supplied. "It's an airborn pathogen that only affects Romulans." She moved Deanna aside and took another look at her prized germs, biting her lower lip in excitement, fascinated by their growth and movements. Deanna laughed fondly at the doctor.

"Did Commander Data bring a child down here recently?" she asked.

"No," Beverly said bluntly, pulling back from the microscope, her demeanor immediately shifting to something more haunted. "They never tell me anything that happens on this ship anymore. What boy?"

"Data beamed over a Romulan and El-Aurian crossbreed from a Klingon bird-of-prey. I thought he would have brought him down here for a basic examination, at least."

"Well," Beverly said, an amused smile returning to her lips, "you know Data. Once he finds something he likes, he never lets it go." It was something of an inside joke amongst the crew, and Deanna laughed, well-aware it was true.

"Well, ignoring Mr. Data and his toys for the moment," Deanna continued, "we also recently acquired some Klingons, and are on our way to Starbase 417 to drop them off. Perhaps you'd like to make a list of medical supplies you want to pick up while we're there."

"I would, actually," Beverly admitted. She moved to another table and began to play around with a few hyposprays. "Data and Geordi were working on an improved interrogation method, and I was thinking of applying that to some of my own work. Extracting information is _far_ too long a process, as is."

Deanna grinned. "Not when you can sense what's on their minds," she pointed out.

Beverly shot her a smirk. "We don't all have that luxury."

Deanna could only laugh at the truth of that statement.

-  
-o-  
-

The captain was loath to admit it, but he was just a little tense, flying as close to Orion space as they currently were. The _Enterprise_ had had many run-ins with the Orion Syndicate, and not all of them good. The Orions were traders primarily—_neutral_ traders, that was, and they were very adamant about retaining that position. Perhaps one day the Terran Empire would have the time and would be willing to commit the resources necessary to conquer them, but that day had yet to come; as it was, the relationship between the Empire and the Syndicate wasn't outright hostile, but it was certainly uneasy.

"Sir, an Orion cruiser is approaching from aft," Tasha reported. The captain gripped the arms of his command chair.

"Friendly?" Will asked. Picard ignored him.

"Lieutenant, open hailing frequencies."

Tasha nodded. "Hailing frequencies open."

The captain stood, sharply tugging his uniform straight. "This is Captain Picard of the ISS _Enterprise_. What are your intentions?" He had never been a man for idle pleasantries, and much preferred the simple, direct approach.

The image of the cruiser flicked off-screen and was replaced by that of a large, hulking Orion with more metal in his face than a warp core. _"Merely conducting research, Captain,"_ he sneered, placing particular, derisive emphasis on the last word. _"Though I must admit that I did hear a rumor regarding your cargo…"_

The captain looked over at Will, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged hopefully. Picard turned back around.

"Yes, we recently acquired some Klingons from a battle, and were hoping to relieve ourselves of them at one of our starbases." He paused, and then added with a sly smile, "…Unless you can offer something more?"

The Orion laughed. _"I have no use for Klingons—unless they are personal enemies. The Klingon warship you destroyed was the _Gr'oth_, was it not?"_

The captain looked back at Tasha, who nodded in confirmation. "It was indeed."

_"And its captain?"_ Picard looked back once more.

"Worf, sir," Tasha reminded him.

"Yes, Captain Worf," Picard said, turning back to the Orion on the viewscreen. "We were hoping to keep him for ourselves—for an interrogation, perhaps."

Again, the Orion laughed his horrible, hoarse laugh. _"I will pay you a fair price for the captain, Worf, and his first officer, Goran."_

The captain grinned. "About this 'fair price' you speak of…"

-  
-o-  
-

Data's cabin wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and had little in the way of distinguishing characteristics. In fact, aside from the custom workstation at one end and a very select, few items he'd cobbled together, his quarters looked as if they had never been used. The bed in particular looked completely untouched, the covers folded immaculately, and Data supposed that at least the boy could make use of _that_ for the time being.

"The computer will respond to any basic commands you give it," Data explained, "however, you will not be able to access any critical files or systems. I will not be here for most of the day, though I will return at approximately 1900 hours."

The boy only nodded. Had Data been human, he probably would have thought there was an awful silence every time the boy, now dubbed Sin, was around. But Data _wasn't_ human, and didn't particularly care about the silence. Nor did he care that the boy would probably be bored out of his mind in such a sparsely decorated cabin.

Before Sin could sit down, a creature—for lack of a better word—about knee-height and covered in black fur came bounding out from the bedroom. It barreled into the boy before he could move and promptly started licking his hands.

Data pulled it back from Sin and ruffled its fur. "This is my dog, Spike. He will not harm you unless you threaten him or—"

_"Mr. Data, report to Cargo Bay Three."_

Data's head snapped up at the sound of the captain's voice over the comm. He confirmed he was on his way and, with a slight nod at Sin, left.

The door of the cargo bay was open but heavily guarded, as Klingons had a reputation as some of the most formidable warriors in the galaxy. Tasha Yar, herself, oversaw the security detachments, phaser rifle in hand.

"Orions," Tasha said when he came up to her. "They don't want them beamed over; we have to transfer them by shuttlecraft." She sighed and shook her head. "Sometimes I really hate the Orion Syndicate."

"The Orions have never trusted Terran technology, nor the Terran Empire itself, for that matter," Data supplied, eyeing a Klingon who came up to the force-field. "What was the price?"

"I don't know exactly, but we're transferring two of them. Apparently, they're wanted for crimes against the Syndicate."

Picard arrived then, with a hulking Orion trailing behind him—almost one-and-a-half times the captain's height, with a multitude of piercings and his massive arms crossed over his chest. Tasha jerked her rifle at the guards, and they cleared a path for the two.

"That's him. And him." The Orion pointed at the first Klingon, the one Data had observed, and a smaller, younger one behind him with a cross-shaped scar on his cheek. "We will double the payment if they are delivered today."

"That's my intention," Picard said with a wide smile. He turned to Tasha. "Lieutenant, you and Commander Data will transfer these two under the direction of Mr. Reshef here, and we shall rendezvous with your craft in two days."

Both officers nodded. Tasha waved for some of the security guards to move closer to the door, and she punched in a sequence to bring the force-field down. Worf, the captain, came forward of his own accord, head held high. Goran, his first officer, fell in step behind him, displaying the same fierce bravery. Tasha gestured for them to cross the threshold, and then immediately reinstated the force-field on the cargo bay. There were some guttural mutters and growls, too low to make out, amongst the other Klingons as Worf and Goran were placed in thick shackles.

Tasha started off toward the shuttle bay, and Data was about to follow, but the captain grabbed his arm, stopping him. "I expect you to keep an eye on that boy while you're away, Mr. Data."

The android gave him a quizzical, confused look. "Sir?"

"You _heard_ me, Commander."

Data nodded sharply. The captain stalked off in the opposite direction, and Data turned to catch up with Tasha and her security detail. "I will be with you shortly. Escort the Klingons and Mr. Reshef to the shuttlecraft." Tasha nodded, and they parted.

It didn't take Data long to retrieve Sin from his quarters. Data thought it was quite an inconvenience to have to drag a boy around with him, but Captain's orders were Captain's orders. Though he had yet to speak, Data still instructed the boy to be quiet on their trip; Sin responded with a nod.

When Data arrived at the shuttle bay, everyone else was already seated—the Klingons and the Orion in the back, and Tasha in the front. Data took his seat at the main controls, and Sin took a seat on the floor, to the side of the android's legs.

"Make sure you don't screw up the landing," Reshef sneered once they were ready for take-off. "I don't want my Klingons ruined."

Worf growled at the comment, as did Goran.

Data went through the procedure word for word, and once they were clear of the _Enterprise_, entered in the flight plan. Tasha kept her eyes and her phaser rifle trained on the prisoners, on the lookout for meaningful glances or anything else that might indicate an attempt to gain control of the craft.

"We should arrive in one hour, twenty-two minutes," Data announced.

"And the captain gave us _two days_ to do this?" Tasha asked.

"Trading is a long and complex procedure," hissed Reshef. "It will take at least a day for me to get you your payment."

"So where are we supposed to stay in the meantime?" Tasha demanded.

The Orion gave a tight, green grin. "In this shuttlecraft for all I care. It is so spacious, after all."

Tasha opened her mouth to snap out a retort, but it was then that a console started beeping. Data's fingers danced across the panel.

"Two Orion cruisers are dropping out of warp. Their shields are up."

Tasha looked at Reshef. "Do they know we're coming?"

The Orion's brow furrowed in confusion and, with a bit of effort, he moved his bulk forward. "They should…" He glanced behind him at the Klingons. A little nervously, Tasha noticed, though she paid it no mind.

"Their shields are still up, and their weapons are online," Data said. "We are receiving no response to our hails."

"Where's the _Enterprise_?" Tasha asked.

"The _Enterprise_ entered warp four minutes, thirty-eight seconds ago." The console in front of him flashed. "The Orions have—"

He was cut off by Orion fire. The shuttle shook and shuddered, the shot devastating to such a small vessel. A console exploded into sparks, the system fried, and Tasha whirled around in her chair to offer assistance. Status readings flew back and forth between the two officers, but what she ended up paying most attention to was the guttural shout of a Klingon.

"You said they wouldn't attack right away! It's too early!" Worf yelled.

"Orions always fuck up—didn't anyone tell you!"

"Shit," Tasha breathed, looking over at Data. "We've been had."

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: I love mirror!Troi. If she and (mirror!)Data were ever to team up, they could take over the ship lickety-split, I'm sure of it. (And by the way, thanks to all of you who have reviewed, followed, and even favorited this rewrite!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

.

**Chapter 4  
**

.

The Captain sat in his ready room, resting with a cup of the ship's finest coffee on his desk and a data PADD with Shakespeare's _Titus Andronicus_ in his hand. The ship was scheduled to dock at the Imperial prison planet Proxima, to drop off the rest of the Klingons and in turn, to gather some supplies. Picard was more concerned about his payment from the Orions, though he was sure Lieutenant Yar and Lieutenant Commander Data could handle it.

That damn android and his boy… It would have been much easier if they had simply left the child on some M class planet, amongst wild creatures—after all, most children were wild creatures themselves. Data had almost sounded like that Klingon captain, Worf, for a moment—like some silly, selfless Robin Hood. Except Data was something significantly more intelligent and useful than a Klingon.

The captain sighed and placed the PADD down. What a creature Data was… Magnificently gifted and yet horribly cursed, whose cruelty superseded anything the Empire had done, and whose kindness superseded anything the Romulans were capable of.

That damn android.

-  
-o-  
-

Data scrambled like wildfire. He dragged Tasha and Sin away from the burning shuttle, through the jungle of alien greenery, until they were a safe distance away. Reshef had died upon impact, and Worf had leapt out of the craft as soon as possible, leaving the injured Goran behind. So much for Klingon honor.

Data left Tasha on the ground, coughing from smoke but suffering only minor burns, and bounded back to the shuttle. There was grunting, and sounds of struggle coming from it, like someone trying to prevent themselves from screaming in pain. Data entered the craft, seizing Goran and dragging him out. Goran roared in agony as his legs were torn from underneath the rubble.

"Orion bastards set us up! You Klingon scum!" Tasha shouted. She coughed, still trying to get smoke out of her lungs, and looked at Data. "Now what do we do!"

Data had Goran hoisted up by the throat, trying to force him to stand on his broken legs. The Klingon only grinned fiercely at Tasha, seemingly amused by her frustration. "You could always _die,"_ he hissed. Data narrowed his yellow eyes, not taking kindly to that, but Goran continued. "Or you could—"

"Be quiet," Data ordered, tightening his grip on the Klingon's throat, "or I will put you out of your misery."

Goran managed a sneer and wheezed out, "I don't take orders from machines."

Data threw him to the ground. Another roar erupted from the Klingon's throat, and he coughed, putting a hand to his neck.

"Your captain has abandoned you," Data stated matter-of-factly. "Now we will take our leave in case the shuttle fire spreads."

"I'd rather die than be a trophy for the Empire," Goran croaked.

Data knelt down. "Then die," he simply said, and in a fraction of a second, he had the Klingon's head twisted around, breaking his neck with one sharp, swift click. Goran slumped to the side, landing in a bed of thorns.

"Data!" Tasha yelled. "We needed him!"

Data coolly stood, mechanical as always. "I do not think the Orions are meeting us at our original destination." He turned to her. "Are you unharmed?"

Tasha breathed out of her nose in exasperation, but nodded. "Pretty much. Just a few light burns."

Data looked to the boy. He had a scrape on his cheek, his clothes were charred from the crash and a bit muddy from being dragged through the foliage, but apart from that, he looked fine. "Are _you_ unharmed?" Data asked. Sin nodded.

Tasha growled in frustration, dropped down onto a rock, and let her head fall into her hands. "Data, why'd you bring the boy…?"

"Because the captain ordered me to."

"Fuck the captain."

"I would rather not, Ta—"

"Data!"

Data's brow furrowed, but he did not question Tasha's scold. Rather, he chose not to question it, and instead turned back to the shuttle. The fire seemed to be spreading.

He knelt down and scooped Sin up in his arms, placing the boy on his shoulders the way he had seen in old films and family portraits. Not that he saw the boy as family; it was just the easiest way to carry him. "We must leave, Tasha. Now."

Tasha recognized an order when it was given, and she sighed, standing up and following Data as he started off through the jungle.

They walked for some time, uphill mostly, so they could get a better view of their surroundings, and maybe even see where Worf might have run off to. When they reached something resembling a clearing, Data carefully deposited Sin on the ground and climbed onto a rock, surveying the planet below. The majority of it was thick with greenery, the sky a bright aqua blue. It probably would have been considered a beautiful sight, but Data didn't know much about beauty.

"Do you think the _Enterprise_ will find us?" Tasha asked, sitting down to catch her breath.

"If we wait for the shuttle fire to die down, I am sure we can construct a distress beacon from the remaining scrap. But I do not think the captain will be pleased."

"No shit. We lost his Klingons."

Data frowned. That was indeed true, and of course the captain would be displeased. Incredibly displeased, in fact. No doubt the two of them would be punished, perhaps more severely than usual. Perhaps it would be better if they did not return. But, Data concluded, that obviously wasn't an option.

"We must keep moving," he said, leaping down from the rock with deceptive lightness. He hoisted Sin into his shoulders again. "We must find a suitable place to rest for the night."

Tasha sighed and followed.

-  
-o-  
-

Will laid his cards down on the table, a smug smile plastered across his face. A collective groan came from the other players, who threw their own cards down as Will dragged the pile of chips to his chest. Deanna was the one who was most upset by the loss, sitting with her arms folded and her jaw clenched in irritation.

"I think you're cheating us somehow," Geordi chuckled. "I've never known a man to win so much in one night."

Will grinned and started shuffling the cards. "Well, you just met him. Another game, Deanna?"

Deanna anted with a scoff. "Someone has to beat you."

Will only grinned again and began dealing out the cards to the four other players: Deanna Troi, Geordi La Forge, and both Beverly and Wesley Crusher—who never found it embarrassing to be seen gambling with his mother.

"If Data were here," Wesley said, "you'd be running for your money, Commander."

"Shut up, Wesley," Beverly snapped under her breath, fidgeting with her remaining chips. "Deal the cards, Will."

"I would, if I could be sure Deanna's eyes wouldn't burn a hole through them." The rest of the table laughed, and Will smirked at the unamused Deanna. "I'm sure she'll remember these are her cards, though."

Deanna picked up her hand without a word. Somehow, she always lost to Will when it came to poker. The others had such strong emotions, that it was typically easy to pick up on who was bluffing or not. But Will? For all that she could read him under any other circumstances, he was like a stone when it came to gambling.

With the cards dealt, everyone turned serious—everyone except Will, whose poker face just happened to be a half-smirk.

_"Commander Riker, report to the bridge,"_ came the captain's voice over the comm. Will acknowledged the request, then sighed and placed his cards down.

"I guess we'll finish this game later," he said, standing.

Deanna stiffly laid her own cards down. "I'll join you. I'm leaving anyway." Will couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"Hold onto my winnings for me, Geordi, while I take care of this."

Geordi chuckled back, and shot the first officer a joking salute.

Deanna and Will walked in silence at first. It was only when they entered the turbolift that Will broke it. "I never would have pegged you as a sore loser," he said.

Deanna shifted her arms across her chest irritably. "Well I am. A very sore loser, at that." A small smile suddenly touched her lips as an idea struck her, and she uncrossed her arms and turned to Will. "But," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders, pressing her body suggestively against his, "maybe you can make it up to me."

Will swallowed, his triumph over poker replaced by an uneasy arousal. "W-well," he stuttered huskily, "just what exactly did you have in mind…?"

Deanna smiled, dropped her eyes to his lips, and brought her own mouth closer. Her lips parted enticingly—and it was then that the lift doors opened.

"This is my stop," she said, suddenly disentangling herself from him. "I'll see you later, Commander." And with a mocking wave goodbye, she sashayed out. Will swore under his breath, and ran a finger under his collar as the lift resumed.

The bridge was busy as usual, but the only voices heard came from the captain and an admiral on the viewscreen—grey and old, he was laughing along with something Picard had just said. Will came forward with an acknowledging nod to both the captain and the admiral. Picard wrapped up his conversation and then turned to Will, a bottle in his hand.

"Courtesy of Admiral Revial," he explained. "An old Earth whiskey. 'Jack Daniels,' they call it."

_"Yes,"_ the admiral added from the viewscreen. _"For your glorious defeat of the Romulans. We're all cheering for the _Enterprise_ at home, Commander."_

Will smiled and nodded. "Thank you, sir."

The admiral grinned back. _"You enjoy that, and we'll enjoy the rest of these Klingons. They always put up such an entertaining fight. Until next time, Captain."_

"Until next time," Picard said, and the admiral's face blinked off the viewscreen. He turned to Will. "Have the senior staff meet me in the briefing lounge." He gave the bottle in his hand a demonstrative little shake and added, "And tell them to bring their drinking glasses."

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Is it just me, or does "That damn android" not sound like the title of a sitcom?: _That Damn Android!_ (The exclamation mark is required, don'tcha know. Along with a phenomenally cheesy laugh track.) To be followed by _Law & Order: UFP_!


	5. Chapter 5

**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

.

**Chapter 5  
**

.

If Data weren't some mad scientist's dream-made-real, he probably would have made a good father. He carried Sin on his shoulders as they trekked through the jungle, looking up every so often to make sure he was okay. Tasha watched him and wondered if, beneath all those circuits and wires, there was a decent man hiding somewhere inside him… Then she remembered who she was thinking about, and quickly dismissed the idea.

"There seems to be an awful lot of clouds overhead," Tasha commented to break the silence.

Data glanced up. "A storm is approaching."

"You're an expert on weather and climate now?"

"I am an expert on almost everything."

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right."

"Your attitude suggests you are dissatisfied, Tasha. Have I done something wrong?" Data asked. She would have sworn there was a twinge of sarcasm to the words, but Data would just as staunchly have claimed he was incapable of such a thing.

"I just think we've been walking for a _little_ too long."

"Three hours, forty min—"

"Shut up, Data."

Data stopped in his tracks, as if the words had angered him somehow. He took Sin off his shoulders and placed him neatly down on a rock before turning to Tasha.

"Would it please you if we rested here?"

Tasha smiled tightly, an expression that didn't reach her eyes. "I don't know—it depends how much you want to _please_ me."

Data's brow furrowed at her words and he scanned through his vast database in an attempt to figure out just what she meant by that. He would have to analyze it later on…assuming he wasn't busy being decapitated for failing what was, by all means, a basic mission.

"He really doesn't speak much, does he?" Tasha asked. She jerked a thumb over at Sin, and the boy blinked.

"No, he does not," Data confirmed.

"You mute or something?" Tasha demanded.

Sin blinked again.

"I do not believe he is, Tasha."

She rolled her eyes. "Data, he's not going to speak if you keep speaking _for_ him."

"But I have no desire to hear him speak," he pointed out. Tasha sighed exasperatedly.

"So just what the hell are you going to do with a _boy?"_

Data looked at Sin. "I do not know. But it seemed a…_waste_…to leave him behind, or in the hands of another crewmember."

"Yeah, they can be pretty cruel bastards."

"Humans in general are 'cruel bastards.' "

Tasha snorted and sat down on a fallen tree. "Says the android made to look like one."

"I may _look_ human, but I am _not_ human, and thus am not party to the inherent evil of the species."

"Come again?"

Data opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. Tasha was smart—though Data doubted, somewhat arrogantly, that any human could comprehend the meaning of his words when it came to the social situation humans had dug themselves into. He simply looked away and took in the scenery instead.

They had traversed a long distance and were nearing the edge of the jungle. He'd been heading towards the mountains, hoping to find some sort of shelter to sleep in for the night. They were nearly there and it would only take them a few hours to walk back in the morning. Hypothetically, they could have stayed near the shuttle—the fire was probably out by now—but cobbling together a distress beacon would be exponentially easier in the light of day. And who knew what kind of beasts might come slinking out at dark, looking for a meal. Not that he would be all that tempting to any potential predator, but his companions weren't so inorganic.

"We should get moving," Data stated.

Tasha huffed. "I just sat down."

"Then _stay_ sitting down," Data snapped. "I, however, will be continuing on."

Tasha swore under her breath and picked herself up with another huff. Data placed Sin neatly back on his shoulders; the boy seemed keen to stay there and avoid having to do any walking, himself.

They continued across the landscape, looking for some cave or hollow to spend the night in. Data had noticed a distinct drop in the temperature and that the wind was beginning to increase in intensity. The storm was closing in and would cause problems if they didn't find shelter soon.

"Shit, Data, the wind's really picking up," Tasha said. Half-shouted was more like it.

He looked up—the trees were being blown sideways by an unfathomable force, and the sky was dark and heavy. "There should be shelter not too far ahead," he said, before starting up a steep hill, Tasha at his heels.

The wind increased, whipping at them with more force the higher they climbed. Rain began to fall, and Data relocated Sin to his arms to protect him from the weather. Tasha tried her best to keep the rain out of her face, but found herself failing miserably. In a matter of moments, the three of them were soaking wet, the wind growing ever-stronger at their backs.

"I see a cavern!" Data shouted back, and Tasha admitted that, despite how insufferable he could sometimes be, at that moment, she was very grateful for his superior eyesight.

They sprinted up the mountainside to where there was, indeed, a small hollow in the rock-face. There was a slight overhang above, enough to shield them from the rain, and vines that fell down one side. If they were lucky, the vegetation might even provide some protection from the wind. Data urged Tasha and Sin behind the vines, and squashed himself up against the side that was more open to the elements.

"Move over, kid," Tasha muttered to Sin.

"He will be more exposed to the wind if he does," Data told her.

"Well, then make him switch places! I'm not shacking up to a wall all night!"

Data's eyebrow arched at her choice of words. He looked at Sin and nodded, a silent agreement. Tasha and Sin swapped places, leaving her considerably closer to Data and the boy alone against the vines.

The storm raged over the night. Rain flooded the planet, and lightning flashed across the sky. Sin's teeth chattered and he jumped at the thunder every so often, so Data gave the boy his jacket and sash to keep him warm. Tasha thought that was a pretty compassionate act for a machine…but then again, she supposed Data was far more than just a machine, anyway.

Sin managed to sleep through about half of the night, but Tasha couldn't; she was too wet and cold. Data sat quietly, clad in his short-sleeved black undershirt—a superfluous garment for one who didn't sweat, but Data was nothing if not a stickler for protocol—possibly doing some internal calculations or maintenance.

_Fucking android,_ she thought bitterly, hugging herself in a pathetic attempt to control her shivering. _Give the boy a bone, but don't even notice me…_

The fact of the matter was that Data had indeed noticed. But he'd also noticed how uncomfortable Tasha was around him. It seemed the more time they spent together, the tenser and more defensive she became. He knew why—he was closer to humanity than many thought, and much more effective in his methods.

"Are you cold?" he finally asked.

Tasha shook her head, her hair matted against her forehead. "N-no."

"You are lying," he said. She scowled.

"Fuck off, Sherlock."

"The temperature will only drop throughout the night," Data told her factually. "My body radia—"

"I know, I know, you're like a s-stove. Yeah, I know, Data. But I'm fine."

He looked her over, taking note of the goose-bumps on her bare midriff, her slightly blue lips, and the quivering in her limbs. He extended his hand to her in a silent offer, but she only looked at it.

"Are you afraid of me, Tasha?" he asked.

She swallowed. "No."

"Then there is no need for you to be uncomfortable." He gestured for her to take his hand, but she just continued to stare at it. Like it was some dangerous weapon (which, to be truthful, it very often _was_), or else some hideous monster (which, all actions aside, he most certainly _wasn't_). Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his palm. He closed his fingers around hers, his skin so hot to the touch he might very well have been a stove. So warm for a machine.

Without warning, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her and holding her against him. She couldn't see his face, but she just knew he was enjoying himself right then. Tasha only froze and tried not to move too much. She admitted that she was grateful for his warmth, but it would be just like him to 'misinterpret' any wiggling she might do.

"You would make a good mother, Tasha," Data said, trying to instigate conversation.

"What, after I just kicked your kid out of his space?" she shot back.

"You are a kind person who hides behind a shrewish façade," he said coolly. "I cannot be fooled, Tasha. I may be a machine, but I know the basics of humanity… Much more than the basics, actually."

She suddenly became brave and lifted her head to face him, mere millimeters away from his nose, scant centimeters away from his mouth. She could feel his breath hot against her cheek, but she just shook her head.

"Not again, Data." She tried to pull away, but he kept her firmly in place. "Data, let me go," she ordered.

He made no move to release her, and instead only asked, "Why?"

"Data!" She pushed futilely at his shoulders. "You bastard!"

Her near-panicked cry woke Sin up, and he let go of her at that. Tasha scuttled away from him and closer to the boy. Data was like some space-age Casanova, going for whomever he liked whenever he felt like it. And while she might have found him attractive in his way, she was determined to find someone who would have her forever, not just for a night or two. Oftentimes Tasha wished she could have done without feelings entirely; as far as she was concerned, they just got in the way.

The storm worsened, and Tasha thought she would die from the cold. She refused to go near Data, though; she wasn't a naïve little girl anymore, and she sure as hell wasn't his toy.

Data, meanwhile, ground his teeth all night long. There was something niggling at him, a dangerous madness in the back of his circuits, no doubt inherited from his father.

In the morning, the remnants of the storm glistened like diamonds on the leaves and trees. They didn't have time to take in the beautiful scenery, though, and Data started off back toward the shuttle without a word, his pace quick and determined. Tasha, being smart, followed behind with Sin as best she could, occasionally losing him in the mess of greenery.

Anxiety settled heavily in Tasha's stomach. She suspected Data wasn't about to let last night go; he _always_ got what he wanted.

Upon arriving at the shuttle, they constructed a distress beacon without exchanging one word. Then, they waited, in silence and in limbo.

-  
-o-  
-

The captain was pissed.

According to the information they had, the android and Miss Priss had fucked up an amateur mission and crash-landed on some stupid jungle planet. They followed the distress signal and gathered incidental information on the sector. Worf had managed to get away, and Goran and the Orion were dead. What a waste of time.

The captain tapped his fingers on his chair, drawing an odd look from his first officer. Will looked at his captain for orders, and, when none were given, spoke up.

"What shall I do when we beam them up, Captain?"

"Assuming they're both still alive," the captain began, "throw them in the brig. Along with the Romulan brat if he's there. Have the agony booth ready for our _security chief_, and…" The captain paused, scratching his chin. "Do something creative with the android."

Will grinned. "Aye, aye."

.

.

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

.

**Chapter 6  
**

.

The details of the torture of two officers and a boy weren't necessary to document in a report. As long as they were reduced to cringing masses of hopeless, useless sludge, that was all that mattered.

Tasha had taken the punishment hard. She'd barely survived, thrown back into the brig unconscious and half-dead, with no medical treatment whatsoever for her phaser burns or broken arm. The boy, on the other hand, had taken it surprisingly well—as well as anyone could, at least.

When he was at the captain's feet, his young body burnt and bloody… The captain had grinned. The boy had kept his head down and let the sweat drip from his nose, his ribcage burning with each shaky, cracking breath. Picard always believed that the making of a man was the breaking of a man—in which case, perhaps this boy was on his way to becoming a useful asset to the Terran Empire after all.

Picard shoved the boy's chin with his well-polished boots. He fell back and closed his eyes. Picard thought he might have seen the boy utter something from his bruised lips, but the words weren't audible. Nor were they important.

The details were never important.

-  
-o-  
-

They were placed at the end of the brig where the lights were dim and the cells hadn't been cleaned since—well, since the ship left spacedock for its first mission. The stink of damp walls, sweat, and blood was sickening. The stench alone was punishment enough, and was often used to induce sickness in misbehaving crew members—a few days in the brig and they never went back to their old, undisciplined ways. Just straight back to duty after a quick hypo for the disease and nausea.

Data sat in the corner, his body involuntarily jerking against the wall, his eye twitching every now and then from the fried circuits. They couldn't make an android feel pain, but they could certainly compromise his body and mind by shocking his system. He couldn't even calculate a single mathematical problem in his current state.

Tasha lay exactly where they had flung her. She was breathing lightly and unevenly, stinking of burnt skin and fabric, her arm twisted at an unnatural, painful angle.

And the boy, Sin… Data was intrigued, to say the least. He didn't cry like a boy, nor did he die like a worthless Romulan. He sat quietly, looking around every so often, wincing a little, but not complaining. His neck had suffered phaser burns, as had his hands, but he didn't look too shaken by the experience. The Empire, however, had made a statement with him—his left ear had been cut, removing the pointed tip and leaving a garish wound, struggling to heal. He touched it occasionally with a murmur, but didn't complain. If anything, he seemed grateful that the whole thing hadn't been taken off.

His blue gaze was intently focused on Tasha. He tried to match her breathing every now and then, but found it difficult, and could only wonder what they had done to leave her in such a state.

"Will she die?"

Data turned his head slightly to look at the boy. It was the first time he had spoken, and he did so so fluently, with a deep, almost ominous tone to his voice. Too deep and ominous for a boy. Sin looked over and met the android's gaze.

"No," Data replied. "Why—should it matter to you—if she does?"

Sin leaned back against the wall and twirled a rag between his fingers. He closed his eyes and sighed a little. "It's a waste," he finally murmured. "Freedom has no value if violence is the price."

Data looked at the boy through his twitches and almost smiled. "I—agree."

-  
-o-  
-

When they were released, they were escorted to Geordi and Beverly, respectively, for repair and the barest of medical attention. Tasha was frighteningly weak, but insisted she needed no help, accepting only a splint and sling for her arm, and a few swabs for her burns.

The captain had ordered all three to the briefing lounge. As they stood silently in the turbolift together, Data noticed an occasional flash of fear across Tasha's features, despite how she was trying to put on a brave face.

"You look worried, Tasha," he commented, almost as if he was flaunting his emotionless tone and demeanor. Tasha shot him a fierce look.

"You're an asshole, Data," she sneered, before dismissively flicking her head away.

Data, in turn, looked back to the lift doors. "Tell it to the captain, Lieutenant."

"So we're on formalities now?" she demanded. And then caustically added, _"Sir?"_

Data didn't reply.

They entered the briefing room with Data in the lead. Picard sat at the head of the table, with Will to his right and Deanna to his left. Deanna's presence normally indicated the matter was not resolved and that the punishment might not be over. She smiled at them—a sinister expression leaking from the corners of her dark lips. Data kept his head held high, almost enough to be construed as arrogant, and sat between Sin and Tasha, who, by contrast, were looking terribly apprehensive and downcast.

"The first matter at hand," began Will, "is the boy. We have reason to believe that he may have caused distractions and hindered your performances."

"I disagree, Commander," Data smoothly said.

Picard raised his eyebrow. "Elaborate."

"The attack was not anticipated. The Klingons were even concerned by the timing of the assault, saying, and I quote, 'You said they wouldn't attack right away!' " He reproduced the words in a pitch-perfect imitation of the Klingon's voice and continued in his own tone. "The boy was not involved in the attack in any way. Nor was he a distraction to myself or Lieutenant Yar."

"Do you agree, Lieutenant?" Will asked.

Tasha took a breath. "I agree the attack was a surprise, Commander."

Will smiled. "But you disagree about the boy?"

Data looked over at Tasha. A silent warning to watch her words carefully. Tasha took another bracing breath, firmly ignored his gaze, and continued.

"He should not have been on the shuttle. He was a liability. There's no use for him on this ship, or _any_ Imperial ship, for that matter. He should be discarded."

" 'Discarded'?" Will asked. "In what manner?" A grin was twitching at his lips.

"Removed from the ship. Sent somewhere else."

Picard looked at Tasha, and then to Data. As was usual, the android's features were completely emotionless and unreadable—the perfect poker face.

"Deanna, can you provide a little insight into this…?" Picard trailed off, searching for the right word, but Deanna knew what he meant and neatly took over.

"Fear. Anger. Classic transference." She smirked.

"From whom, Deanna?"

"Lieutenant Yar. As is usual with Commander Data, I can never tell, and the boy…well, he's not projecting much. He's very guarded. Strong, I would say, Captain."

Tasha lowered her head and breathed in heavily.

"So it comes down to this half-breed mutt," Will said. "What are your reasons for keeping him, Mr. Data?" He raised his eyebrows at the android, who replied matter-of-factly, as if the matter was nothing more than a simply data analysis.

"He survived a shuttle crash and bore the brunt of the planet's elements. He also took his punishment in stride—as you may recall, he uttered not a single cry, neither during nor after. There is something to be said for a boy who is more physically resilient than one of our lieutenants."

"Are you referring to Mr. Yar, Commander?" asked the captain.

"Indirectly, sir."

The captain had to laugh at the android's honesty. Tasha paled and felt as if she'd just been hung from a meat hook and slashed from throat to belly, her poor guts left to spill all over the floor. She swallowed and tried to compose herself.

The captain leaned back in his chair. "I will have to speak to the admiral on this matter. You may be further punished at his discretion."

"And the boy?" Will asked.

Picard glared at him. "As I was just about to say, _Commander_, the boy may stay. Mr. Data will report back to me in two weeks, outlining his usefulness and thus, his right to remain upon this ship. Otherwise, the boy will be executed." He turned to Data and Tasha. "We'll be keeping a very, very close eye on you two. Any problems regarding your performances will be reported directly to me and will result in an immediate removal from duty."

"Or execution," Will added, because all-too often, if one wasn't fit for duty, then one wasn't fit for the Empire.

Picard continued, "Deanna Troi will attend the next meeting, should there be one, and assess your mental capabilities. Dismissed."

They sat motionless for a moment, taken aback by the abrupt end to the briefing, sending unsure glances back and forth, wondering who should make the first move—until the captain irritably looked up from his computer console.

"Well?" he demanded. "Piss off!"

-  
-o-  
-

Data was back on duty the next day. One of the turbolifts was having 'issues,' as Geordi put it, which turned the normal twelve-second journey to the bridge into one closer to two minutes.

He stood, hands clasped in front of him, waiting, and thought about the boy. Sin. He was obviously a smart child and had a high tolerance for pain—and a willingness to live and fight, hidden deep beneath his mess of DNA. He had to find a purpose for him… Data toyed with some kind of experiment to test his strength and mental abilities—he was curious to know why the child was so complex, and _why_ he was the product of so many different species? Was it intentional? Was he a secret Romulan weapon?

The lift stopped to pick up another crewmember. When the door slid open, the battered image of Tasha Yar caught Data's eye. She stepped in, not looking at him, and the door slid shut again.

"Bridge," she muttered to the computer, staring straight ahead. The lift resumed, and they stood in silence for a few seconds.

"You look upset, Tasha," Data commented. "Perhaps you should speak to the doctor. You seem fati—"

"Fuck off, Data," she snapped. "You want to try to show me up in front of everyone again? Huh?"

"Ah." He turned back to the door. "The briefing lounge. You were dissatisfied with my report."

"No, really?"

Data frowned at her sarcasm. "I will not leave the child to the mercy of the Empire. I believe he can be useful to us. It would be illogical to eradicate such—"

In a flash, Tasha was up in his face. For a supposedly emotionless android, he sure did manage to sound smug sometimes, and she found it particularly unbearable then. Her irritation was compounded by the slow lift, and she pointed at him, almost shaking with rage, speaking through gritted teeth, oblivious to any danger she might have been putting herself in.

"You shut up right now. That was _fuck all_ to do with that boy—it was you making me look like an idiot because I won't play your game. Because you got rejected like the _sleaze_ you are."

Unaffected, Data arched an eyebrow. " 'Sleaze'? Many would disagree. That is anger talking, Tasha. I merely spoke the truth to the captain."

Her voice lowered in disgust, and she spat, "I'll see you used for spare parts, Data." His expression faltered, and in one fell swoop, he grabbed her arm and swung her into the turbolift wall, crushing his body against hers and pinning her down.

"I do not like threats," he whispered in her face. "I do not like threats at all, Tasha. I find you a capable officer and I enjoy your company, but I _will not"_—he squeezed her uninjured arm and came almost nose to nose with her—"tolerate threats. Be cautious with your words, Tasha, for I am sure you cannot perform your duties with two broken arms."

She didn't reply. She was trying so hard to wriggle out of his grasp that she couldn't even manage a little squeal.

"Well, can you?" he demanded. "Can you perform your duties without the use of your arms, Tasha? Or must I test my hypothesis?" He squeezed harder and she gasped. She thought that maybe he was going to do some real damage to her, right there in the turbolift. He wasn't programmed to be compassionate, and she'd always known he was a little odd, eccentric, sometimes even unknowingly cruel when it came to satisfying his curiosity, but she'd never seen him like this. This was more like genuine anger. Or madness.

He narrowed his eyes at her and deliberately breathed in her face, reveling in her fear. But a second before the turbolift door opened, he let her go, his cool expression falling back into place as if nothing had happened. And if her arm wasn't hurting from where he'd grabbed her, she might have been hard-pressed to believe anything _had_.

Polite as ever, he gestured for her to step off the lift first, and with a wary glance, she did. She took her station, and Data moved to the science console behind her, typing into it with lightning speed. Tasha's own console suddenly flashed, indicating a message from within the system, and she opened it without a thought.

_I would never hurt you, Tasha. But I always get what I want._

She deleted the message with a nervous breath.

.

.

.


	7. Chapter 7

**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

.

**Chapter 7  
**

.

He poked at his skin as he looked in the mirror, concentrating on the bruises and scratches, staring at them until they almost resembled abstract art on the canvas of his face. The boy finally blinked, breaking the spell, and breathed in heavily.

He had exhausted what little entertainment was to be found in the android's quarters, and had grown so bored, that he was beginning to wish he had simply been killed upon his return to the ship. He had seen the android enter his encryption code into his computer enough times to have it memorized—but Sin wasn't interested in hacking the ship's systems for information.

He ran the tap in the washroom and let the sink fill. He concentrated on the water, looking for all the world like a sad little boy staring at his feet. He wasn't sad, though—he was focused on his broken, wavering reflection. For one fraction of an instant, a perfect, unmarred image was reflected back at him.

He dipped his hands into the water and splashed it over his face. Scrubbed every scratch, every bruise, every burn, as if it could wipe the Terran Empire from his very being. He gasped and sputtered and shook his face, grabbing the nearby towel and rubbing his skin raw as he dried it.

He gave his face one last wipe before looking back in the mirror. His reflection stared back at him. Arctic blue eyes, dirty blond hair, pale, perfect skin…despite the state it had been in just a few moments ago. He touched his ear, which hadn't healed as well, the tip still struggling to grow out of the fresh scar. It would take time, he guessed, but he would be fine. Back to normal. Back to a perfect, uninterrupted reflection.

-  
-o-  
-

"Data."

The android tapped absently at the console in front of him.

"Data."

More tapping. He started humming an off-key tune.

"Data!"

Data sharply cut off his humming and finally turned his head. "Geordi. Yes, Geordi?"

"Couldn't you hear me? I need those figures." Geordi scurried around to Data, next to the warp core.

"I could hear you, Geordi. I simply chose not to respond."

Geordi frowned. "So you were ignoring me?"

"In a fashion, yes; I was ignoring you."

Geordi shook his head as Data handed him the appropriate PADD without so much as a sideways glance. He knew the android well enough to realize that there was clearly something on his mind—even though he could, potentially, keep a million thoughts on his mind at once.

"So you gonna tell me about it?"

Data raised an eyebrow. "To what are you referring?"

"Okay." Geordi leaned forward on the console. "Are you gonna tell me about _her?"_

"I am afraid you will have to be more specific, Geordi."

The engineer sighed. "Don't try to fool me, Data. You can run a thousand mathematical computations in your head, but when something's bothering you…well, you start acting like a human. You know, like you're day-dreaming. Preoccupied."

Data frowned at the analogy. "Please do not insult me, Geordi."

Geordi shrugged and walked back to his console, leaving Data alone with his thoughts. Engineering was silent except for the whirring of the warp core and the dull _bleeping_ of the consoles.

"Geordi."

He looked up to see Data, firmly in thought, standing next to his console.

"I am trying to formulate…a plan."

Geordi smirked. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Data took a seat opposite Geordi. "And it involves Natasha Yar."

Geordi's smirk turned into a full-blown laugh. "Trouble in paradise, Casanova?"

"There is no 'paradise,' Geordi. Nor anything that would even remotely resemble 'paradise,' " Data pointed out. Before Geordi could remark on that, he continued. "Her recent actions have left much to consider. I undermined her during the debriefing with the captain, and she was not pleased. Upon our next meeting in the turbolift—"

"Let me guess, Data. She said, 'no thanks,' right?"

Data nodded.

"So, what are you gonna do about it, huh?" Geordi asked. They both had a good understanding of each other—for all that Data would claim this was simply a game to pass time, a puzzle to solve and nothing more, it certainly looked like wounded pride to Geordi, and he knew the android's 'plan' involved seeking revenge or otherwise gaining the upper hand. Whatever the motivating factor behind it, Data was going to have her—and furthermore, he was going to have her on his own terms.

"I have considered several options," Data mused, "though I would appreciate your advice. My first option would be to deliberately cause a need for me—perhaps an away mission. My plan would—"

Geordi cut Data off with a dark laugh. "Stop it, Data. There's no need to be _civil."_

"In that case, my first option would be extortion."

Geordi snapped his fingers. "Now you're talking."

They talked for some time, looking around occasionally and pausing when an ensign or other junior officer walked through engineering. Data took care of the report while Geordi—a little more enthusiastically than Data had anticipated—paced back and forth, bouncing ideas off of Data. When they finally came up with a plan, and when Data double-checked engineering for eavesdropping devices, they set a date. A date that Data was thoroughly looking forward to.

"Why did I not think of this alone…?" Data wondered.

"Because you overthink things, Data." Geordi shrugged. "It's too obvious for anyone else to pull off, but it's perfect for you because you plan things so _delicately_…"

"I will require your help. I must stress again, Geordi, that although I trust you and value our friendship, I—"

"I won't ever put you in the deep end, Data. It's a matter of survival, so to speak."

Data nodded. "As I expected." He stopped for a moment and considered his plan. He sat there silently for some time before Geordi interrupted.

"Just one question, Data," he said. "I mean…why blackmail? Why not just seduce her?"

"I cannot. I have tried, Geordi. As I am sure you are aware—as I am sure the entire _ship_ is aware—we have previously engaged in sexual intercourse." An alcohol-induced encounter that _she_ had initiated—and then dismissed practically the instant she became sober. "I cannot explain this…obsession."

Geordi raised an eyebrow. "Really? An obsession?"

"Perhaps I shall take care when choosing my words around you. It is not an _obsession_. I do not know what it is." Data frowned thoughtfully. "I cannot explain my programming any more than you humans can explain your insatiable taste for blood."

"I know for a fact Soong was a bit of a womanizer. Maybe he programmed that into you. Complete replica of the mad genius. You'd have thought he would create an android for battle instead of a copy of—" Geordi stopped and looked up at Data, who raised his eyebrows.

"He did not need to create an android for battle. I possess superior strength, agility, and intelligence. Perhaps when I am bored one particular day, Geordi, I may decide to kill you all." His voice was cold and unemotional, and it was that part that scared Geordi the most. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Sorry, Data. You know what I meant to say."

Data shook his head and stood. "Do not apologize, Geordi. You sound like a Terran weasel in such instances. I will contact you tomorrow to finalize the procedures."

Geordi shrugged as Data walked off, and murmured, "Okay."

Just as the turbolift doors slid open, Geordi shouted Data's name. He turned to see the engineer looking at him inquisitively.

"Why Tasha?" he shouted to him. "Why not some young ensign with curves?"

Why not, indeed. But he'd had such conquests before, and they'd done little for him. They were so easy, so willing to fall into bed with just about any superior officer, so eager to please—and so, _so_ boring. Natasha Yar was…well, none of that. And infinitely more entertaining for it. Data shot Geordi his small, subtle smirk. "I enjoy the challenge," he said, and then disappeared into the lift without another word.

Geordi smiled to himself and slowly sat back down, his grin growing bigger and bigger until it finally broke into a chuckle. After a minute, he managed to compose himself and tapped his comm. badge.

"La Forge to Commander Riker. I need to speak with you."

.

.

.


	8. Chapter 8

**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

.

**Chapter 8  
**

.

Ten Forward was a notorious hotspot for riots and brawls. In an attempt to keep some semblance of order, security was often posted in the bar, but even so, it still remained a loud, raucous place. Data himself wasn't a fan of Ten Forward; he only appeared every so often with Geordi to socialize, or for what others might refer to as 'dates.'

Data checked his internal chronometer. He had arranged to meet with Geordi at 2100 hours, but the engineer was, so far, approximately three minutes and forty-eight seconds late.

"Need a drink, Commander?"

Data glanced up at Guinan, the proprietress and main bartender. "No. I do not require liquid consumption to operate."

Guinan smiled to herself. "Let me rephrase that," she said. "Would you _like_ a drink, Commander?"

He thought about this, and then nodded absently.

She poured a drink into a small glass and flung it across the polished bar-top. Data caught the drink with ease, taking a small sip as he regarded her. Guinan had an intriguing, enigmatic quality—she was wise, wiser than any human he had ever known, with a keen insight in those dark eyes. It seemed that she always knew a little bit more than the universe intended.

"Waiting for Commander La Forge?" she asked.

"I assume that you already know the answer to that question."

"And I assume that's a 'yes.' " Guinan moved in front of him and leaned over the bar, lowering her voice discreetly. "I heard about the Klingon incident. I heard about a little Romulan boy running around your quarters, too."

"He is not Romulan. He is _part_ Romulan." Data set his drink down, and then raised his eyes back to Guinan's, adding, "He is also part El-Aurian."

"I know," Guinan replied. Data gave her a quizzical look, but Guinan just shrugged in explanation. "Instinct."

Data turned thoughtful, and confessed, "I have been ordered by the captain to find a use for him…but I cannot think of one."

" 'Use'?"

"Yes. Any way he could be helpful, either on this Imperial vessel or any other. If I do not, he will be executed—a fate which concerns me."

"Let me guess," Guinan said knowingly. "You see something in him, and the Empire doesn't."

"The boy has a very high tolerance for pain and an aptitude for survival. To execute him seems illogical and wasteful. I am…intrigued by him," he admitted. "He is not driven by the desire to kill and conquer. He seems almost…innocent. To groom him to serve the Empire would destroy that innocence, yet to do nothing would destroy his life."

"Innocent, you say? Well, he sounds a lot like someone I know…"

Data tilted his head curiously. "Who?"

_"You,_ Commander." Guinan smiled. Unlike anyone else on the ship, she had a genuine smile—no dark intentions behind it. Oftentimes, Data wondered why she stayed on a vessel that seemed so at odds with her character. "You may not have emotions," she went on, "but you've got a sense of morality about you."

"You are mistaken, Guinan. I lack ethical programming. I know _of_ morals, but I do not possess them. In fact, my actions to date would indicate that I am, for lack of a better word, evil."

Guinan laughed. Such a bold statement for an android. "No, you're not. I bet you don't even know what evil is." Another small laugh escaped her. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I know, either." She rounded the bar and took a seat next to him, folding her hands on the bar-top. "Even the act of killing is in a bit of dispute," she said. "Hypothetically, if I let my son die instead of letting him spend the rest of his life suffering from a severe genetic condition, when he asked me to, what does that make me?"

Data frowned in confusion. "You are certainly not evil, Guinan."

"I'm not talking about me. I'm talking hypothetically. I'm talking about the intent."

Data mused. "Your intentions were…kind."

"Exactly. Kind intentions. Evil acts don't exist, Commander. It's the intentions _behind_ acts that draw the line."

Data's brow furrowed. "You cannot justify my actions by claiming I had good intentions."

A knowing smile seemed to cross Guinan's lips, and she confessed, "Mr. Data, I think I know you better than you know yourself. You've been living among humans your entire life—watching, learning, imitating… Trying to fit in. It's not your fault you were brought up by hounds." He blinked at her, but said nothing, and after a moment, she continued. "Listen. La Forge will be here any minute, so I'll just say this once: What if you'd never known violence? Or murder? If you'd lived a life outside the influence of the Terran Empire? Don't you see what they're doing to you? You're not evil incarnate…just a mishmash of bad behaviors. Learned from the most bloodthirsty fiends in the galaxy."

Data opened his mouth to protest, but Guinan removed herself from his side in a flash. And then the doors to the bar swished open as Geordi ran in, apologizing for his lateness.

-  
-o-  
-

The Klingon incident hadn't gone down too well with the higher-ups of the Imperial Fleet. They'd ordered the _Enterprise_ to do a sweep of Romulan and Andorian territory—which would have been boring enough on its own, but they'd also been ordered to stop at every outpost along the way. Most were dead, fried from previous Imperial attacks—_but you could never be too sure,_ the admiral had said.

"No activity or life signs, Captain," Data reported for the fourth time that day.

Picard yawned, and tapped the arm of his chair irritably. "Proceed to the next post, Ensign."

"Sir, the sensor surge last occurred two minutes, twe—"

_"Thank you,_ Mr. Data," Picard snapped. Data closed his mouth with a small frown.

The ship had experienced a slight surge at the last outpost, which had contributed to some abnormal sensor readings. The captain had cursed and eventually blamed Geordi, but had requested updates at ten minute intervals—which Data provided, admirably.

The bridge crew seemed to give a collective, inward sigh of boredom. It was an effective punishment, to say the least—embarrass the Imperial flagship by sending it snooping around graveyards at impulse power.

The captain suddenly stood. "Commander Riker, you have the bridge…whilst I go and hang myself," he added darkly, then stormed off to his ready room without another word. He thought he heard Will mutter something under his breath, but at that moment, he would rather pop off for a quick nap than snap at his first officer for being an ass.

Data glanced back over his shoulder from the ops. console. Tasha stood rigidly at her station, twisting her wrist every now and then (Beverly had finally been ordered to heal the bone), and didn't catch Data's eyes before he snapped his attention back around to his own station.

He was concentrating on the anomalous sensor readings when a message flashed on his screen. Curiously, he opened it.

_Dinner tonight?  
Love, your sweetheart xxx_

Data blinked in astonishment and carefully turned his head to look at the rest of the bridge. His eyes first went to Tasha, who was talking quietly with a science officer…far away from her console. Data frowned. He began to calculate the time it would have taken Tasha to send a message and remove herself from her station, adding the variables of a conversation into account, but then his eyes caught Will Riker's—who pouted his lips in a mocking kiss. Data merely arched an eyebrow and turned back to his console.

"Approaching Outpost T'ka—"

Data's voice was cut short by an explosion that shook the bridge. The lights immediately dimmed to red and the klaxon began blaring—and it was then that smoke started to leak from the ready room.

"Captain!" Will bolted towards the ready room's doors, less out of a sense of loyalty to his captain and more at the thought of the crew being declared incompetent and being reassigned to a dilithium mine. Data rushed to the doors as well, prying them open with his hands. Black smoke flooded out onto the bridge.

"Mr. Data, get in there!" Will bellowed. "Lieutenant Yar, I was to know _what the hell_ is going on!"

"Aye, sir!"

Data dove into the smoke and easily made his way through. He heard the harsh coughing of Captain Picard, and followed it back behind his desk. The captain was hunched over, injured and trying to breath against the smoggy blanket that enshrouded the room. The red alert klaxons were still blaring, and for just the briefest of moments, a small smirk touched the android's lips.

He hauled the captain over his shoulder and made his way back, depositing a groaning Picard at Will's feet. Beverly arrived just then, for all the good she could do, and rushed out of the turbolift to attend to the captain's filthy lungs.

"Mr. Data, what happened?" Will demanded.

He ran his fingers over the ops. console. "A small explosive device was transported into the captain's ready room. It has a Romulan sig—"

"Bastard Romulans! Set a course for—"

"Sir!" Data said, cutting him off. Will glared menacingly, but Data continued. "Commander, the device was transported internally. From a location on the ship."

"Where?"

"I have not—"

_"Where?_ You're telling me there's a bastard Romulan on this ship and you're not doing anything about it! _Where,_ Mr. Data?"

Data turned back to his console and tapped swiftly. "Deck thirteen, section—"

"Well, get down there! Lieutenant!"

Tasha was already in the turbolift when Data began to move toward it. Before he passed the first officer, Will halted him and snarled in his face.

"You better hope that isn't your fucking _lap boy_ transporting explosives around the ship."

-  
-o-  
-

The entire ship was on the lookout for suspicious activity, but everyone knew that it could just as likely have been a crew member trying to assassinate the captain as it could have been a Romulan.

"Clear!"

Tasha burst out of one room on the deck and came face to face with Data—but proceeded to storm into the next room without so much as one word to him. Data frowned and followed her into a cargo bay, flipping open his tricorder to scan the room.

"No life signs," he reported.

That was good enough for Tasha. She took another quick glance around the cargo bay, then turned swiftly on her heels, heading for the door. Data intercepted her path, effectively blocking her from exiting.

"Lieutenant…" he began. Tasha stopped uncomfortably in front of him and sighed sharply. "We experienced a sensor malfunction earlier today. I think thoroughly checking the cargo bay ourselves would be a wise course of action."

Tasha sighed again and clutched the bridge of her nose. "I doubt we'll find a Romulan on board…"

"Tasha…" He stepped towards her, but she suddenly dropped her hand from her face and backed away.

"Fine, whatever," she said. "Let's just get this over with. You check over there." She pointed to the far end of the room, where only a row of boxes stood against the wall. Data looked back to see Tasha already making her way through the cargo on the opposite side, and he clutched his tricorder so hard he nearly broke it. Once again he felt that familiar trait from his father running through his circuits—a slight madness, a dull hint of violence.

He started grinding his teeth again, and as he made his way through the boxes, he found himself pushing them out of the way with a cold, dangerous ferocity. The madness was a constant. But for a fraction of a second, he wondered if it might have manifested itself as _kindness_ without the Terran Empire coloring his programming.

.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Only one chapter left, unfortunately—but more on that next time. Thanks again to everyone who has read, reviewed, and just all-in-all followed this!


	9. Chapter 9

**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_originally by Pseudo Posthuman_

.

**Chapter 9  
**

.

Will Riker paced back and forth with Data's security analysis in his hand. He frowned every so often and occasionally let out a disgruntled sound, but, unfortunately, knew he would have to accept the android's report as truth. Data might have been enigmatic and unreadable, but his service record to date indicated an implacable loyalty to the Empire, and his reports were well-known for their impeccable thoroughness.

Will sat down hard at Captain Picard's desk. "What course of action do you recommend now, Mr. Data?"

"All Romulan explosives on the ship must be removed to Imperial tactical outposts. We may also benefit from an investigation of the previous outpost, as our visit there coincided with the sensor malfunction."

Will stroked his beard. "…And?" he prompted.

Data hesitated. "With all due respect, sir, we should not eliminate the suspect."

Will's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward on the desk. "Why? Don't tell me you have some sort of _emotional attachment_, Mr. Data."

"No, sir. I am not capable of such emotional responses. I respond only to the call of duty and serve only the Empire," Data stated matter-of-factly. "However, in this case, it would not be wise to eliminate the suspect."

"Elaborate."

"With the captain incapacitated, it will be your duty to ensure the right person is punished. I would not like to see the wrong person removed from the ship, thus leaving the true culprit free to strike again. Such an error would not only put our positions at risk, but our lives as well."

Will made an impatient gesture with his hand. "So…?"

"I would like more time with the report, sir. Our sensor malfunction may have caused inaccurate results—or else the culprit could have altered the sensor readings. As you know, it is not unheard of for cover-ups to occur."

Will mused a little at that. "Well." He tossed the report to Data, who caught it effortlessly with his lightning reflexes. "Finish it. 0800, tomorrow."

"Perhaps, sir, I could have an extra twenty-four hours? As you know, I was due off duty two—"

Will stood up abruptly. "Mr. Data, _do it!"_

Unaffected, Data nodded and turned to leave. Before he reached the door, however, he stopped and turned back. Will was reseated, concentrating on the computer console. "Sir, if I might ask—why did you choose me to investigate the incident, and not Lieutenant Yar?"

Will looked up. "Well, from your report, it's a damn good thing I did."

Data nodded, even though he was still confused. Will couldn't have known Tasha was meant to be the suspect, and as Chief of Security, investigations usually fell under her jurisdiction.

"And Mr. Data," the commander added, before he walked out, "I'll be interrogating Lieutenant Yar. She won't die, but she'll likely _want_ to."

Data, with his back to Will, allowed himself the tiniest of smirks.

-  
-o-  
-

Sin had been waiting in Data's quarters for so long that he eventually slipped into a doze and started day-dreaming in his half-conscious state. Spike, Data's dog, had provided some entertainment, but the boy had given up trying to play with the creature after not too long; it was used to playing rough, and Sin didn't really fancy getting his arms and face scratched up.

After what must have been a few hours, he heard the door to the cabin open, and recognized the perfect footsteps of the android. Data walked around his small sofa, to where the boy was sitting on the floor, and frowned at him.

"Why do you have your face covered with a towel?" he asked. Sin gave no reply, as usual. "Take it off," Data ordered. Again, no response, and so Data reached down and pulled it from the boy's face. His disheveled blond hair obscured his eyes, but Data could make out enough of his face, and he frowned in confusion.

"Where is the damage?" Data asked. He pushed back Sin's hair to get a better view and cocked his head in curiosity. "Even your ear is healing…" He knew some species were fast healers, but this was well beyond anything he had ever encountered. The tip of the boy's ear was slowly growing back, and no bruises at all remained on his face. Nor were there any signs of phaser burns on his hands or neck, when just days ago, he had been a wreck, a showcase of Imperial torture.

Data considered the circumstances, and spoke again. "Sin, you need to speak to me. I need to find a use for you within the Empire. We need to prove to the captain that you are useful, or else you will be destroyed. I would like to send you to Dr. Crusher so that she may perform a physical and compile a report on you, but I would prefer to do it with your consent. You must openly approach Captain Picard, expressing your interest in serving the Empire, or you will be put to death."

The boy moved his hair back into his eyes and said nothing.

Data knelt down, grabbed him by the shoulders, and turned him around, willing the boy to pay attention. "Listen to me. You are condemning yourself. I regret that service to the Terran Empire is your only option, but you will _die_ otherwise. Will you go to Dr. Crusher? Please?"

The boy stared at Data absently. There was something in those blue eyes of his that Data could never pinpoint. Not an emotion, exactly…more like a story. A story and a blur of life that was too difficult for even the android to understand. Finally, the boy nodded a 'yes' to Data's question.

Data straightened. "Thank you. I must complete a report for Commander Riker now. I will replicate a book for you—though I must apologize in advance for the state of Terran literature."

He left the boy alone and patted his dog on the head before it removed itself to the other room. Data glanced back at Sin and caught his eyes again; the boy stared at Data without fear or mistrust—almost like he was looking at a brother.

"My name is 'Sinba,' " the boy told him. "Not 'Sin.' "

The smallest of smiles touched Data's mouth. "As I had hoped. You do not fit such a name. I prefer 'Sinba.' "

-  
-o-  
-

Tasha held her head high and kept a certain amount of composure about her in the face of Commander Riker. He paced slowly, looking over a PADD and scratching the radiation scars on his eyebrow. He glanced at her every so often, just to make her uncomfortable.

"…What do you have to say for yourself?" he finally asked.

"Nothing, sir. These allegations are completely unfounded."

Will narrowed his eyes and came to stand in front of her. He towered above Tasha like a monster, flexing his chest like an ape. "You have access to all weapons on the _Enterprise_. You have access to the sensors, the logs, the security details… Who _else_ has the knowledge to allow such a security breach?"

"Why would I try to kill the captain, Commander? It's not as if I'm next in line for the position." To say nothing of how the very social structure of the Empire made female captains virtually nonexistent; there had been more than a few throughout history, of course—but they had only risen to such positions by being even _more_ ruthless than their male counterparts. Self-titled Empress Sato sprang to mind—and even _she_ hadn't long-enjoyed her power before being summarily hunted down and executed. Tasha was smart enough to keep her ambition in check.

Will growled. "I didn't ask you that! I asked you to name who else had the expertise to get around the _Enterprise_'s security!"

"A number of officers," she said. Including Will, himself, she thought—who _was_ next in line for the position. "But it wasn't me. I was speaking with Lieutenant Astor during the attack. Surely the report—"

Now he was right in her face and clutching at the collar of her uniform. She leaned her head back slightly, but held her fear in check—she wasn't going to let him walk all over her. Riker was nothing short of an animal, but Tasha had had her fair share of dealing with Imperial animals over the years.

"Our captain is in sickbay, fighting for his life, and I have to put up with a stupid little girl as my security officer! You think I'm gonna let this drop? You think you're getting off the hook? I _knew_ we should have killed you and that filthy bucket of bolts as soon as you got back. You're worthless, Yar, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you get away with this."

Tasha managed a smirk. "See some of yourself in me, Commander?"

He back-handed her. She staggered, but kept her feet, and reflexively raised a hand to her face. Her lip was bleeding, and left a crimson smear across the back of her hand. "Why don't you try that again, and this time aim somewhere it'll hurt?"

Will bounded forward. _"Get out of here before I kill you!"_ He shouted so loudly, the entire bridge heard him. Tasha left, with her pride intact and her head held high, smirking at any of the bridge crew that dared to stare.

She made no stops and went straight to her quarters to clean up. Only then, when she spotted the reflection of her bloody lip, did she feel the full force of Will's allegations. A wave of anger rode over her, directed at whatever asshole had written the report, and a sea of worry was left in its wake. With a heavy sigh, she gripped the wash basin and stared at the floor.

"Shit, Tash… Shit, shit, shit…"

She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes, swearing under her breath. How was she going to get out of this one? She hadn't done a thing wrong, but the Empire wasn't interested in right or wrong—just a scapegoat. Find someone to blame, sentence them, and be done with it. Out of all the frame jobs she'd heard of, not a single person accused had survived…and that sent a wave of dread to her stomach, to the point where she almost felt physically sick.

The door chimed. Automatically, she shouted for them to enter, and turned around to see the figure of Lieutenant Commander Data standing in her living area and looking around for her. Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

_"You!"_ she screamed, bounding out of the washroom and managing to startle him. "You've got some fucking nerve! You set me up and then you come to rub it in my face! You fucking piece of shit!" She picked up the first thing she could find and launched it at the android's head. As usual, he dodged it with his expert reflexes, but found himself having to back away to avoid the sudden onslaught of hurled items.

"Tasha, st—"

A vase cracked above his head. He frowned. "Do not force me to—"

She picked up a sculpture. A _heavy_ sculpture.

He rushed her and grabbed her wrists before she could pick up a _chair_. Despite her protests and attempts to fight him off, he forced her to the nearest wall with a crash, pinning her arms and legs.

"You sound upset, _Tasha,"_ he said. Quite the understatement, that; she was practically frothing at the mouth.

"You set me up! You set me up because you're such an insecure little prick! You can't stand it, can you? Can't _stand_ people having enough dignity to not sleep with you!"

"This is not about me," he tried to say, but she wasn't having any of it.

"You set me up!"

"I was merely reporting my initial findings!" he said, loud enough to cut through her tirade. She was still struggling, but at least wasn't screaming at him anymore, and he continued. "I came here to report _new_ findings to you, Tasha. I knew you would be upset about the accusations. Further investigations have revealed some…_interesting_ facts."

She froze.

"But after that display," he went on, "perhaps I will destroy the new report."

She relaxed a little, but he didn't release her. "You've got something to show I'm innocent, haven't you?" she asked, voice hushed.

Data feigned thought. "The information is still inconclu—"

"Tell me!" She bucked and tried to shove him off of her, but he just pressed harder.

"I _may_ have some information that would be useful," he admitted. "However, your reaction concerns me. Perhaps my assignment on the _Enterprise_ will be better without you as a threat. Perhaps the ship will benefit from your departure. It _is_ about the bigger picture, after all…"

She couldn't back away any more, but decided to try to stay as calm as she could and not give him the pleasure of seeing her afraid. He stared at her intently, long enough for her to make out the various shades of gold in his eyes. And then he dropped his gaze to her mouth, bringing his lips a little bit closer.

"…But I could easily be convinced otherwise," he added.

She could feel his breath and even smell the faint scent of alcohol. Not that he was drunk; he just didn't _need_ to clean his mouth the way an organic person did, and so any drink he chose to consume would stay on his tongue for a few days. She turned her head to the side—the only form of escape she had left.

"So you're blackmailing me."

Data shook his head. "I do not want—"

"I _know_ what you want," she said, whipping her head back around. "You're asking me to sell myself for that information, aren't you? Do you know how _low_ that is?"

"On my part or yours?"

She gritted her teeth. "Jesus, Data! I expect this from Riker! I expect this from the fucking _gangs_ in the Betelgeuse system! _You're_ supposed to have a little bit of class about you, but you're just as bad as the others!"

He took his hand from her wrist and slammed it into the wall. The nearby holo-frames crashed to the floor and the shelves shook. He leaned down, so close that their noses almost touched, and hissed in her face. "At least you thought highly of me at some point. Believe what you will, but my intentions, however, _are_ good. I do not want you in _that_ way. Why would I?" he demanded. She tried to turn her head away again, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "The act is relatively pointless to me unless I _feel_—yes, _feel_—like participating in sexual intercourse." He closed his eyes and sighed a little, letting his forehead rest against hers. The stress of his words and his shifting moods made Tasha nervous. This was nothing like his normal behavior and more like a malfunction—a madness program constantly in the back of his circuits, ready to flick on at any moment.

She couldn't control her breathing any longer, and finally let out a long, shaky breath. He looked at her intently, and she wondered for a moment if he might kill her—but she couldn't see it in him. He had never killed a crewmate in cold blood. By order, yes—but never for his own gain or for the thrill. He wouldn't kill her…but he would certainly leave her to die. His kind nature only appeared once in a blue moon.

"So what do you want?" she breathed shakily.

He let her chin go, then, and backed up a little so she could breathe better. He still kept her caged against the wall, though, and touched a finger to her hair. "You misinterpret my actions at every turn, Tasha," he whispered. "I told you I would never hurt you. I am not a murderer like William Riker, nor am I a mindless robot meant for war. I want you to come for a drink with me. I want you to be seen with me. I want you to want to spend time with me."

"Why me? Why not some naïve ensign?" she snapped.

"Why _not_ you, Tasha?" he countered.

She didn't reply and instead turned her head away with another shaky sigh. She didn't like this one bit; another officer doing this would have been bad enough, but having the smartest and strongest man in the fleet on your back? Even worse.

"Tell me, Tasha," he prompted. "Why _not_ you? Is there any reason I should pursue another?"

The fear and anxiety were finally starting to get to her, and she raised pleading eyes to his and whispered, "Why this way, Data?"

He traced a finger down her cheek, and she managed to not flinch. "I do not know another way. I will never hurt you, Tasha—"

"But you'll blackmail me and treat me like an object the way any other man would? Expect me to be waiting ready for you in bed after every shift? Throw me away once you get bored?"

Data shook his head. "I do not know another way." He looked her straight in the eye. "Nor do you. Nor does anybody on this ship. Women are not treated equally in the Terran Empire. You are a second-class citizen compared to a man." Tasha felt she should have been insulted at that, but the truth was the truth. "I am…an alternative. I do not have it in my nature to become a slave to desire. Consider me a child, Tasha; I have learnt from the Empire and know no other way of life. I was once a second-class citizen, myself—I was the butt of attacks at the training camps. The only way I am here now is by making _this"_—he stroked her cheek again—"my nature. What did you expect? A box of chocolates and roses? That does not happen in the Empire. Only in horror stories."

_He may be a cracked-up bastard, but he's the best of the worst. C'mon, Tash, you'll find a way out of this,_ she prayed in her head. She let out another sigh.

He tilted his head a little, and she knew what he wanted. She tried to relax and moved to kiss him, but he turned his head, and she only brushed her lips against his cheek. He kissed her on the temple instead, softly. He was so often like that—gentle and kind. Almost like it was some façade for the madness inside of him. He lingered there for a moment, closing his eyes and sighing into her ear.

"Tomorrow. Ten Forward, 2230. You may be pleasantly surprised."

And in a flash he was gone through the doors, leaving Tasha with her back to the wall, looking up at the ceiling in dismay.

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A/N: Welp, that's the end of the rewrite! ^^' (For those not in the know, the original fic was never finished, unfortunately.) Some people have expressed a desire to see it continued, and while I'll admit that I'm not _entirely_ opposed to continuing it…well…multi-chapter, adventurey pieces _really_ aren't my forte. (My character-driven one-shots, let me show you them.) And of course it doesn't help that I have no idea where the original author was taking the story. (Like the kid, Sinba?—yeah, your guess about him is as good as mine.) I'll admit that I have something of an idea as to where I would take the Data/Tasha stuff in a hypothetical 10th chapter, but other than that, I'm at a loss. D: So this is me saying that if I _were_ to continue it, I would need help—suggestions, collaborators, people to bounce ideas off of, etc. So if you think you could provide any of that, PLEASE CONTACT ME. Review, PM, doesn't matter. I AM OPEN TO PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING, BECAUSE I WISH THERE WAS MORE, TOO.

All that, however, is just a maybe, so in an attempt to be better safe than sorry, I'm dubbing this rewrite finished/discontinued/what-have-you. Regrettable as that is, I'd rather not get people's hopes up only to dash them later, when/if it becomes apparent I don't have the time or the ideas necessary to finish it. :( Hopefully you all understand.

Again, a hearty thank you to everyone who read and supported. I had a lot of fun with this, and I'm happy I was able to give the story, unfinished as it is, a bit more exposure.

**EDIT:** As far as future chapters/ideas go (if you want to help, or even if you're just curious), I've posted what I have in mind so far to my LJ. The entry can be found here:

http : (slash slash) konstantya . livejournal . com (slash) 56915 . html

(Obviously, you'll have to remove the spaces and put in actual slashes and all that. Anonymous comments are allowed, so even if you don't have an LJ account, you can still comment over there, if you'd like. Otherwise, reviews/PMs here are fine. Thanks again!)


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Yay! Another chapter! No promises about any more (I guess I'll have to play it by ear and take it one chapter at a time?), but still! :D However, seeing as how I have no template to follow anymore (as you might call it), and everything from here on out is brand-spanking-new and original, there will, no doubt, be a shift in style when compared to previous chapters. Hopefully it's still enjoyable.

And just so you know, I _did_ go back to Chapter 9 and tweak the times given. Because as it was, Data was supposed to present his revised report by 2200, and Tasha was supposed to meet Data at 2230 in Ten Forward, and half an hour seemed an awfully short amount of time for Riker to look over the new report and for Tasha's name to be officially cleared. Anyway.

Enjoy!

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**Façades: A Mirror Universe Story**  
_original premise by Pseudo Posthuman_

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**Chapter 10  
**

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In an almost-repeat of the previous morning, Will Riker sat behind the captain's desk, mulling over Data's report. "I see," he finally remarked. " 'Cover up,' you said?"

"It seemed a likely possibility."

"Hm. And you're positive this time?"

"Absolutely, sir. Romulan components were found in his security locker, and the anomalous sensor readings we experienced were eventually traced back to the console he was manning at the time of the attack on Captain Picard."

Will hummed again and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Speaking of the captain," Data continued, "might I inquire, sir, about the state of his health?"

Will jerked his eyes up at that, but after a moment, dropped them back to the PADD. Almost resentfully, he tossed it off to the side. "His condition's stable, but he has yet to regain consciousness. Dr. Crusher says he should make it, though."

Data nodded. "I am pleased to hear that."

Will looked back up at the android and narrowed his eyes curiously. " 'Pleased,' Mr. Data?"

"A turn of phrase, sir. I simply meant that, in light of recent events, the captain's recovery will reflect more positively on the rest of the crew than his death would."

At the explanation, Will simply let out a little grunt of agreement. He picked the PADD back up and gave it one more glancing over. "Well," he said, gesturing at the report and effectively changing the subject, "proceed, Mr. Data." A smirk came to his lips and he added, "It looks like Dr. Crusher will have some paperwork to attend to between her monitoring of the captain."

-  
-o-  
-

It was at 1800 hours, just as Tasha was about to get something to eat for dinner, that Commander Riker called her to the ready room. She acknowledged the order, and once the comm. had broken off, let out a shaky sigh. It was probably just as well; she'd been all nerves ever since yesterday and had barely been able to choke down any food since.

"Well," Will said when she entered, brusquely tossing a PADD down on the desk in front of her, "I guess you're off the hook, Lieutenant."

With some hesitation, she picked up the PADD. Displayed on its screen wasn't Data's report, as she'd been expecting, but a death certificate instead. For a Lieutenant Roland Hixon. One of her security officers.

Tasha blinked. "You mean you—?" She stopped.

"Found the culprit?" Will eyed her carefully, suspiciously. He leaned back in his seat, and it occurred to Tasha that he was really getting too comfortable in the captain's chairs. "Lucky for you, Mr. Data is more thorough with his investigations than you are with your security measures."

She was smart enough not to rise to the bait, and instead placed the PADD back on the desk. She set her jaw and clasped her hands behind her back. "Why wasn't I told about this?" One of the officers under her command, and she was only finding out about it _now_, after the fact? To say nothing of how, as head of security, protocol dictated that she be informed of all executions.

"I'm telling you _now_, aren't I, _Lieutenant?"_

So that was how it was going to be. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised. Will had always harbored some resentment toward her, and she suspected it was born from pure, old-fashioned misogyny. Aside from Beverly, who he grudgingly respected (more for her association with the captain than anything to do with her medical skills), and Deanna, who he almost feared, he seemed to have a very dim view of women. Really, it _wasn't_ a surprise that he was trying to bully her and otherwise undermine her authority, what with the captain incapacitated and unable to countermand him.

Tasha suppressed an angry sigh and curtly said, "Yes, sir."

Will watched her for another tense moment, before finally snapping, "Dismissed." Tasha turned on her heel, and was about to stalk out of the ready room when he added, "But make no mistake, Yar—I've got my eye on you. You so much as leave a phaser uncharged, and I'll have your head on a platter."

-  
-o-  
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"Computer, time."

_"The time is twenty-two hundred hours and twenty-three minutes."_

Seven minutes. Fucking wonderful. Tasha sighed and scowled at herself in the bathroom mirror. Almost defiantly, she tugged her uniform straight.

Fine. So she was being blackmailed into a date. That didn't mean she had to dress herself up like a doll.

_Not yet, at least,_ she thought sourly.

Dread washed over her again, and she found herself staring worriedly at her reflection. She had the unmistakable feeling she was going to regret this. It was so easy to be afraid of the unknown, and there was so much unknown about Data… His creator, Dr. Soong, was probably the only one who ever truly knew how he worked, and he was dead.

Like she would be, if she didn't go through with this. While her name was currently (tenuously) clear, she had no doubt that Data could just as easily 'find' further 'evidence' that would condemn her irrevocably if she chose to skip out on their date tonight.

Tasha sighed again, bracingly, and raised her chin at herself. She'd risen to full lieutenant and head security officer on the Imperial flagship—not an easy feat for a woman, and especially not for one who refused to sleep her way up in rank. She could do this.

With a brisk breath, she left her quarters and headed to Ten Forward.

-  
-o-  
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Data was already there, as she'd expected, and upon entering, she suddenly wished she'd had the foresight to arrive early. At least then she could have chosen the table—preferably in a corner, or at least along the wall. As it was, Data was seated in the middle of the room, and she hated the fact that they would be so visible.

But he'd said he wanted her to be seen with him, so what had she expected, really?

"Well?" she said, coming up to the table, resisting the urge to defensively cross her arms. The _'I'm here, what do you want?'_ wasn't said, but was clearly implied.

Data gestured to the seat across from him. "Will you sit?" he asked. So polite, so deferential, as if he hadn't blackmailed her into this in the first place. She wanted to slap that mild non-expression off of his synthetic face.

With a breath, Tasha sat—'slumped' was maybe more like it—down into the chair. She had to relax. He wanted this to look like a date, and it would be hard to make anyone believe they were even meeting as _friends_ if she kept glaring daggers at him.

"I understand Lieutenant Hixon was executed," Data said, by way of starting conversation. Tasha jerked her eyes up to his.

"As if you didn't know," she said, too low for anyone else to hear.

It wasn't exactly that she mourned Hixon's death. He'd been an ambitious sort, who made no bones about the fact that he'd been angling for her job, and had tried to worm his way into her pants on more than one occasion—either to curry her favor, or to get close enough to get her out of his way. But still, the fact of the matter was unsettling. If Data was willing to kill to get her—that was what the execution amounted to, didn't it?—what _else_ would he be willing to do?

Perhaps Data had chosen Hixon on purpose, _because_ of his past advances toward her. An android shouldn't have been capable of jealousy, but then, an android shouldn't have been capable of anger, either. But if the incident in her quarters yesterday was any indication…

Tasha swallowed.

"You _could_ thank me," he said, matter-of-factly.

"For clearing my name after you set me up in the first place?" she demanded. _"Thank you,_ Commander. Thank you so much."

Data frowned, both at her sarcasm and the more formal use of his rank, but a waiter came up before he could say anything. He ordered a White Risian, and Tasha ordered a lemonade. She didn't trust herself to get drunk around him again, and certainly not _now,_ circumstances being what they were.

After the waiter had gone off to get their drinks, she swallowed her anger and leaned forward over the small table. Ten Forward was as raucous as ever, some trumpet-driven number blaring over the comm. speakers, but she still didn't want to risk being overheard.

"Did he really do it?" she asked lowly.

"Did who really do what?"

"Hixon. Did he really try to kill the captain." A part of her needed to know. Because if it _had_ been Hixon, if he _had_ been guilty… Well. It wouldn't make Data seem _kinder_, but it would make him seem less _cruel_, less unpredictable. Less dangerous. He'd always been a stickler for following the rules, but now… It was hard to tell if her fear was warranted, or if recent events had simply made her paranoid.

The android tilted his head. "You saw the report, did you not?"

"No," she admitted darkly. "I only saw the death certificate. Riker still seems to have it out for me. I don't know if he really believes your report."

"He has no reason _not_ to believe it," Data pointed out. "Why should I lie?"

Why, indeed. She stared at him for a moment, trying to find an answer to that question, but his expression was as opaque and unreadable as ever.

"Lieutenant Roland Hixon—" he started to say, but it was at that point that the waiter came back with their drinks. Tasha bolted back in her seat, afraid of how her posture—leaning on her arms, body shifted forward, eyes focused intently on the man across from her—might have been misread, and gulped down a mouthful of lemonade without tasting it at all. Data gingerly swirled his White Risian and took a very precise sip. With some hesitation, Tasha leaned forward again, though not as much as before. Data, if he noticed, didn't comment on it.

"Lieutenant Roland Hixon," he began again, "was found guilty of unauthorized usage of Imperial munitions, attempted assassination of a commanding officer, fabrication of sensor readings, and attempted incrimination of a superior officer." Meaning her. Tasha fidgeted with her drink. It wasn't exactly a straight yes or no, and that worried her for some reason. Data seemed to pick up on her discomfort and leaned forward a little, himself, asking, "He _had_ expressed a desire to serve as Chief of Security multiple times, had he not?" Tasha jerked her head up, staring at his yellow eyes.

Yes, but…

She pushed herself back in her seat and took another gulp of lemonade, nodding affirmatively. Her name was clear; that should have been good enough. She shouldn't press the matter. Even if it _hadn't_ been Hixon, and the real perpetrator _was_ still at large, it was Captain Picard who would be at risk, not her. She'd simply been dragged into this mess out of convenience, because it had been an easy way for Data to get her under his thumb.

_Fucking android,_ she thought, her irritation at him returning. She took another drink and fairly slammed the glass down on the table. She couldn't even get drunk with him around. She'd been reduced to ordering _lemonade_, when by all rights, she should have been indulging in a Samarian Sunset or a Long Island Iced Tea. Hell, even a glass of wine would have done, and she hated wine.

Data had been sipping his way through his drink, and after setting it down, suddenly stood and extended his hand to her. "Dance with me, Tasha?"

"What?" To say she was caught off-guard by the question was a bit of an understatement.

"Dance with me."

She could only blink at him, shaking her head in a vague apology. The music had changed to a jazzy piano number. "I…I don't know how to dance," she stuttered out.

"Then you are refusing?"

Despite how his face remained utterly polite, it was impossible to miss the underlying threat in his words. She braced herself with a breath, muttered, "No," and reluctantly placed her hand in his. He pulled her up and led her to a small, empty bit of the floor, off to the left of the bar.

"It is very simple," Data said. "You simply place your one hand here…and your other hand here…and follow the music and my lead." And with that, he put his hand on her back, pulling her closer, fingers splayed out across her skin like a brand. The body language was clear; he was practically announcing his claim to anyone who might be watching.

She was awkward at first, and, in a way, grateful that she had to concentrate on her legs so much. Trying not to trip over his feet (or her own, for that matter) was a welcome distraction from his arm around her and his body in front of her. But the better she got at following the music, and in turn, his steps, the harder it became to ignore the other things, and the tenser she became. They'd garnered something of an audience—which wasn't surprising, considering that Ten Forward was more prone to hosting brawls than balls—but was unnerving all the same.

She was too warm. She wanted to run, fast and far, and maybe end the sprint with a jump into a cold pool, but his arm felt like a metal clamp around her. Basically _was_ a metal clamp around her.

Oh, God. What had she gotten herself into?

"Do try to relax, Tasha," Data remarked, mildly breaking the silence. "Anyone watching would think you are not enjoying yourself."

She stiffened even more out of pure reflex, but then took a slow, long breath, trying to force the tension out of her muscles. "…So where did you learn to dance, anyway?" she asked. Perhaps conversation could be a stand-in for clumsy footwork.

"Would you believe from Dr. Crusher?"

She pulled back a little to look at him, honestly surprised. "Beverly?"

"She is quite the performer, our dear doctor. Though," he added, "I understand that some of her talents are not…suitable for polite company, as is said."

Tasha swallowed, not sure she wanted to know the details. Or even wanted to know how _he_ knew the details. "So why did she teach you how to dance?"

"There was an away mission—you might remember, to the Cardassian outpost?—where I saved her son from losing his other eye. She owed me a favor," he concluded simply.

Tasha's brow furrowed. "And so you asked for dancing lessons?" Data nodded. "Why not…well…?" She trailed off uncomfortably.

That subtle smirk seemed to play about his lips as he picked up her meaning. "From the Captain's Woman? I may be a machine, Tasha, but even I have a sense of self-preservation."

As she contemplated that statement, the music swelled. Without warning, Data dipped her back over his arm, and she gasped, reflexively tightening her hold on him. She stared up at him, heart pounding, her face mere inches away from his. His gaze dropped to her mouth, that smug non-expression still playing about his lips, and she honestly thought he might kiss her, right then and there in front of everyone in Ten Forward—but it was then that the red alert klaxons started blaring, and Will's voice came bellowing over the comm. system.

_"All hands to battle stations! Two Klingon birds-of-prey off the starboard bow!"_

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A/N: Ahhh! I kind of wish it wasn't so heavy on the Data/Tasha scene, but that's why people are reading this story, right? Because they like the pairing and want to see it? ^^'

Anyway, I've kind of written myself into a corner, here. DX If anyone has any ideas as to what should go down with the Klingons, PLEASE let me know—I kind of feel that this story is more of a collaborative effort than anything (partially because I feel weird and kind of wrong about "claiming" it as my own, since…yanno…it _wasn't_ my fic or even my idea to start with). To my delight, I've finally kind of got an idea about what to do with the kid, Sinba (kind of). I've updated my previously-mentioned LJ post, so, as before, if you're curious and/or want to help, feel free to check it out. (The url can be found at the bottom of Chapter 9.)

Also, in case you missed it, I just recently posted a related one-shot, that focuses on mirror!Ishara and mirror!Lore. (What can I say? I had head-canon that wouldn't leave me alone. ^^)

Last but not least, thanks for reading!


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